


The Dream Eater Opens a Junk Food Chain

by theway



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bestiality, Body Modification, Dream Sex, Erotica, F/M, Humor, Inflation, Large Cock, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Oral Sex, Parody, Penis Size, Pokephilia, Shota, Size Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theway/pseuds/theway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Global Police detective Dave Holder adds excitement in his mind-numblingly boring life by conspiring with Darkrai and copulating with various people through various orifices, while maintaining a really bad sense of humour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Readers should note various groups and demographics are made fun of, which is expected to be taken in good humour. If you are here for the smut, note that the first chapter will not excite you. Tags will be updated regularly to match the content.
> 
> This work is discontinued, so it won't receive further updates. To receive notifications about new works and chapters, you can subscribe to [this RSS feed](https://vas.neocities.org/etc/ao3_works_feed.xml) or [my profile](/users/theway).

The lights were on. The host turned to the camera. 

“Good evening, everyone. You are watching Kanto News. We have a very special guest with us tonight, none other than Pokémon League Master and member of Hoenn’s Elite Four, Sidney, who earlier today lead the largest criminal organisation bust in years.” 

Turning to his right—the viewers’ left—the camera put the aforementioned Sidney into view. 

“Good evening, Sidney,” the host said. 

“Evening to you all, too,” Sidney replied, waving at the remote audience. 

“It’s an honour to have you here, sir.” 

“Well, I don’t know about honour, but I’m not repulsed by the attention, Bert.” Sidney chuckled. 

“It’s been quite the ride, I’m sure.” 

“Oh, you have no idea!” Sidney made a grandiose gesture with his arms; he undeniably had a rich body language. “Just the travel alone put me in close proximity to my own half-digested food, shall we say.” 

Bert, the TV host, chuckled awkwardly, visibly repulsed by the thought of sea-induced vomiting. 

“Hoenn is pretty far away, I must say. What possessed you to come over here personally?” 

Sidney repositioned himself, putting his elbow on the glass-aluminium table, leaning forward, and resting some of his weight on it. 

“A straightforward story if there ever was one, really: Dave—Dave is the guy behind the whole shebang—came to me and said ‘Sidney, you _BLEEP_ , surely, you must have an interest in heroics, you can’t permit that Lance _BLEEP_ to take all the glory forever!’ That’s what he said, legit.” 

The look on the host’s face alone was worth the risks associated with profanity. 

“Alright, I’ve had enough surrealism in my life for one day,” Dave said, picked up the controller, and turned off the TV. He turned from the smug arse that was Sidney on the screen to the smug arse that was Sidney alive and breathing next to the door. 

“What did I tell ya? Best interview ever, am I right? Heh.” 

His grin could swallow a Snorlax whole. Sidney had a sizeable idea of himself, that one was beyond rejection. His stupid not-quite-bald hairstyle, with an antenna poking out of his skull, didn’t help this interpretation of him either. 

Dave shook his head, inasmuch as one confined to a hospital bed could shake his head. 

“I’ll send you a tape or a link or whatever later,” Sidney said. 

“Yes, I’ll make sure to downvote every comment praising you.” 

“Pfft. Killjoy. For real, though, this went nicely, hiccups notwithstanding.” 

“Yeah, such negligible trivialities as a missing Darkrai, or, well…” Dave pointed at himself. “Real smooth.” 

“Aww,” Sidney said in mock pity, approaching Dave and giving him an emasculated shove. “It’s okay. Even if you’re crippled for life, I’m sure we’ll find some way to ease your suffering.” 

Dave pushed Sidney’s hand away. 

“The nurses’ worry will suffice.” 

“Speaking of which, the probability of you being assaulted has officially increased by an order of magnitude.” 

Dave was admittedly not paying much attention to Sidney’s babbling. He was feeling kind of sleepy, actually. Probably the shit in his meds, he thought, as he glanced over the IV bags next to him. 

“In the interest of seeing you alive post-promotion and all, you should secure yourself.” 

He shrugged. 

“Send a couple of grunts to sit outside my door and deny you entry all day long,” Dave suggested. His suggestions were, expectantly, ignored. 

“I went through my stash and got you this.” 

Sidney reached for his belt and threw a white Poké Ball at Dave, who barely managed not to drop it on the floor. A Premier Ball, he noticed, cursing the Pokémon Master’s affluence. 

“Fuck’s sake, Sidney, you know I don’t—” 

“Consider it your promotion gift from me. That way, I don’t have to waste time shopping around for you.” He laughed. He knelt down, and put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “You do know how to open it, yes? I can help teach you its ticklish spots, like you finger this little button over here, and—” 

“Sidney, I could be medicated halfway out of my mind, but at this distance, I can still punch your nose in.” 

Sidney stood upright again and roared out an eardrum-shattering laugh. 

“That’s the spirit!” 

“Seriously though, take it back, you know I’m not a Pokémon trainer.” 

Sidney took a few steps back, and raised his hands in the air, well out of reach of Dave. 

“Oh, no, sweetheart, it doesn’t work like that! You take it, you bought it!” 

“I didn’t take anything, you threw the damn thing on me!” 

He approached the door, and gestured a pair of imaginary handguns, shooting what must have been sarcasm. 

“Have fun, and try not to get yourself killed.” 

“Wait, what is even—” 

“Nuh-uh. I thought you didn’t need the user’s manual.” 

“But what if—” 

Sidney opened the door and yelled: 

“Busy, busy, busy. So busy all the time. Ah, how I hate leaving, but leave I must, woe and dismay upon thee. Quoth the Murkrow, ‘Nevermore’.” 

And like a premature ejaculator, Sidney came in, didn’t impress, and left too soon. 

Dave looked at the tiny white sphere in his hand, not really sure what to expect. He wondered what would happen if he swallowed it, giving it the shitty treatment appropriate for Sidney, but reconsidered, finding the colon reconstruction surgery too much of a price. 

He pressed the central button, inflating the ball to twice its radius. He weighed his luck. If the ball contained something insane like a Wailord or a Muk, he would a) die, and b) unironically assassinate Sidney. 

Feeling suicidal, he threw it on the ground, it opened, and it jumped back at him. Dave almost fell off the bed from the side opposite from the one he had originally thrown the ball, and by the time he stabilised the damn thing, he could hear one “Umbreon.” 

He looked at the striped, black feline and repeated “Umbreon” back at it, as if it were some sort of commonly understood language. It tilted its head, rightfully confused. He thought much worse could have happened, given the circumstances. 

“I’m going to sleep. You’re nocturnal, but you sleep, too. I’ll figure out a way to return you to Sidney after I escape the morphine.” 

The funny thing was, it actually worked. 

* * *

The food was shit. 

“We just want to hear your side of the story,” the reporter explained. “It won’t take more than ten minutes.” 

Dave swallowed his food as quickly as possible. He had noticed that speed made the hospital food considerably more tolerable, in that it felt like eating paper instead of turds. 

The reporter herself was a 30-something brunette piece of pure annoyance, refusing to leave him be in peace to enjoy his aching muscles and gourmet turds. Truly a mystifying case. 

“See, I don’t understand you people. I’ve admittedly not interacted with Sidney all that long, but he seemed to enjoy the attention; why don’t you ask him?” 

“Um,” Umbreon interjected. 

“Oh,” Dave mocked a sudden epiphany, “but you _have_ asked him! Now I see! You’re here for a different kind of exclusive. Why, with so little going on in the world, you probably want to run this story to the ground for, like, a week straight, or something, am I right?” 

“Can I quote that?” she said. 

Well, well, well, the little thing could snark back, what a surprise. 

“Okay, look, we found some rotting zombie corpses of Team Rocket, and we had some suspicion they were smuggling a Darkrai. I thought we might need some professional trainer backup, the Hoenn League was on a break due to their recent change in Champion, I was brought along in the operation, shit happened, now I’m here. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Details, you can get from Sidney.” 

“Umbreon,” Umbreon said. 

“Yes, yes, ‘Umbreon’. Look, I know the food is shit, there’s nothing I can do about it. When I return you to Sidney—pray that day comes soon—you can express your exasperation to him however you please.” 

“The Umbreon is not yours?” the reporter asked, pointing her pen at the suffering Pokémon, torn between starvation and gag reflex. 

“No, I’m not sadistic enough to leave poor creatures all alone in hospitals. I also can’t afford premium balls,” Dave said, tapping the relevant object with the back of his spoon. 

She chuckled, recognising he had a point. 

“Why would he give you a Pokémon? Doesn’t he trust your own?” 

“Hard to. Don’t own any.” 

“Huh.” 

“What, suddenly realised you’re talking to a weirdo?” 

“Well, no, you’re certainly not alone in that department, but I did expect someone as… high profile as you to be more serious about his security.” 

The woman _could_ snark back! 

“Hey, look, it’s not as if I _didn’t_ suggest they put a couple of boys to fend off assassins or some shit; Sidney insisted his solution was better.” 

“I see.” 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take a piss. You know where the exit is.” 

* * *

Dave’s adventures in staring at the ceiling were interrupted by shouting. 

“What the fuck is this shit?!” a woman screamed and threw a newspaper on his belly. 

He was facing his lieutenant, Rachel, who was angry, as per usual. After restoring his heart rate to something sane, he reached for the scattered pages of the newspaper, put them back in relative order, and read the frontpage headlines. 

_DETECTIVE DAVE HOLDER WALKS THE FINE LINE BETWEEN NAÏVETY AND PARANOIA, POSSIBLY BRAIN DAMAGED._

That was an entertaining interpretation of his last conversation… 

“Huh,” he said. 

“Don’t ‘huh’ me!” Rachel exclaimed, shoving the door behind her so it would close with a loud thud. “What the fuck are you thinking?” 

Rachel hadn’t dyed her hair in a while. That was what he was thinking. 

“You haven’t dyed your hair in a while.” 

She raised her hand, as if to slap him, then stopped mid-way. She grimaced deeply, and waved the hand back and forth in front of her face, her breaths increasingly audible. 

“If you weren’t hospitalised already, I swear I’d hurt you.” 

As for Umbreon, it didn’t know what to make of the situation, so it started hissing at the intruder. 

“And what is this? When did it happen?” Rachel said, turning to the Pokémon, and pointing rather rudely with both hands. 

“Oh wow, you didn’t even read the article, huh?” 

“The article includes this, too?” 

“Yeah, and it’s a real funny story, like, Sidney said—” 

“Please stop talking.” 

Rachel raised both of her hands to her face, and massaged all of her features in trying to digest the P.R. hell that was Dave. She was already picturing the lawsuits and the demotions and holy shit her life was over. 

“You should never talk to any kind of reporter without consulting me in the future. Understood?” 

He shrugged. “Okay.” 

“If I were in your position, I’d pray no one is offended by what you said.” 

“If you mean Sidney being offended, I wouldn’t hold my breath.” 

Rachel sighed. 

“Just… I don’t know what you have to do, but get your shit sorted. Alright? The second you’re out, make sure to steer clear of courtrooms and reporters.” 

He was thinking more along the lines of going to a booty bar, getting drunk, and losing Umbreon along the way somehow. 

“And I don’t want to hear any stupid comments about booty bars either, or you’ll have a free lifetime membership to the official Kanto eunuchs organisation,” she added, reading his mind. 

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, and followed it up with “Okay.” 

“Text me when you’re discharged,” she said before exiting the room. 

Dave looked at Umbreon, and Umbreon looked at Dave, and both their faces communicated their confusion. 

“Breon?” it asked. 

“Yeah, I dunno what the fuck that was either,” he replied. 

And he returned to ceiling observation. 

* * *

Dave’s entire body was sore. Every muscle he moved, every time any body part made contact with any surface, his every cell hurt, head-to-toe. Even his butt muscles hurt. He wasn’t sure how or why _those_ were sore, but he couldn’t deny reality. 

He walked up the stairs to his hotel room, inasmuch as a crippled zombie’s attempts at elevation could be described as “walking”. The Umbreon by his side—its reactions ranging from confusion, to pity, to annoyance—didn’t know how to help the situation. 

He was getting tired of this figuratively shitty faux-cold Vermilion weather. He had been tired of the literally shitty Vermilion smell, what with the fine aroma of the port pervading the city. He decided he didn’t like ports. 

He reached for the room keys in his pocket, the bones in his spine protesting. He opened the door ever so slowly, as if it was made of glass, and walked inside, welcoming a room whose bed was soft and its walls weren’t white. 

Instead he found various bodies scattered all over the room, sleeping or fainted or worse. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. He surveyed the room, squinting his eyes, eventually noticing a part of the room was darker than it ought to. 

He entered the room, closed the door behind him, and turned on the lights. 

“They were going to kill you, you know.” 

“Yeah, guess so…,” Dave told Darkrai. 

Darkrai was hovering in between the bed and a piece of furniture supporting the television. Dave would put on a façade of seriousness and vague coolness in front of a creature which need only fart in his direction to kill him, but he was exhausted enough that _anyone’s_ fart would cause serious damage. 

“I can’t tell if you’re really stupid or really crazy.” 

_Mainly stupid,_ Dave thought. Then he considered whether the mere act of thinking it was enough for Darkrai to hear it, since their communication was telepathic and all. Or, at least, he thought it was. It didn’t feel any different from normal communication. Perhaps his sleepiness was messing with his head more than Darkrai ever could. 

“Don’t you take any security precautions?” 

Dave pointed at Umbreon, which was walking circles on the bed sheets, searching for the optimal sleeping position. 

“Umbreon,” it said. 

“Umbreon,” he said. 

“Umbreon,” Darkrai said. 

They stared blankly at the beauty of transparent air until Umbreon got bored and fell on the bed. 

“I guess that answers my question.” 

Seeing Umbreon making itself comfortable on his bed, Dave realised how incredibly tired he was tonight. 

“You don’t mind if I sit down, right?” 

He could swear he saw Darkrai intensify its subtle oscillations up and down as it was hovering, as if to commentate on the stupidity of the affair. He interpreted it as his cue to sit down. 

“You have by far the most nonchalant attitude, out of everyone I’ve met.” 

“Thanks, but I think my tiredness is to blame for this one.” 

Darkrai eyed the Umbreon, which was in deep sleep now, not minding the dangerous legendary Pokémon in its presence. Seeing that the indifference had largely rubbed off on it, it had difficulty believing Dave’s excuses. 

“Right. I’m here to thank you for your assistance. Not handing me over to the Pokémon League, that is,” Darkrai said. 

“It’s cool, don’t mention it.” 

“Okay, let’s cut to the chase, then. What do you want?” 

“Ah.” Dave leaned forward, and rested his chin on his index finger’s first knuckle. It would have looked cooler, but with his body aching, the effect was ruined. “The real question is: what do you have to offer me?” 

“Smart boy. Try working on not being a such a cliché’d tryhard, though.” 

* * *

When the sun dawned, Dave was still sore. He soon realised, trying to comfort himself, that it wasn’t just the aftermath of yesterday’s soreness, but that an entirely new kind of flavour had been added onto it, because for some mysterious reason he had decided to sleep on a chair rather than the bed. 

He straightened himself and removed the drool on his face with his sleeve. He stared blankly at the floor, his brain slowly starting up. He tried standing, but his thighs could barely lift him. He only left the chair after adding the support of his arms to it. 

Even after a night’s sleep, Dave felt like a zombie. He eyed Umbreon, fast asleep on his bed, cursing its luck and lack of nocturnal sleep cycle. He decided a cold shower was the only thing capable of resurrecting him, the heart-pumping adrenaline forcing wakefulness where none was to be found. 

He entered the bathroom and washed his face. What with the hospital debacle, he hadn’t shaven in days. His unruly black hair was at its worst, too, but the hospital wasn’t to blame for that. He entered the tiny bathtub and began washing the filth and lethargy off of himself; hopefully he’d wash off the sore muscles, too. 

The success in the latter department wasn’t notable, but the shower had indeed helped in waking him up. He approached the balcony, the only redeeming quality of the tiny hotel room, and breathed in… the foul air of Vermilion, still reeking of waste and fish. 

This jolted his memory. Something was amiss, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Last night, he had arrived at the hotel, he had entered his room… and had seen bodies everywhere. 

Disconnected images of last night’s events rushed back at him, but they weren’t the only thing that rushed at him; someone—a man—grabbed Dave from behind, turned him around, and pushed him against the balcony door’s glass. 

Dave reached around for some kind of weapon, something to hold onto, anything, really, but found nothing. In that time, the man had opened the door, and pushed him against the balcony railing. 

Dave held on for dear life, only seeing blurred shapes in his panic. His heart was beating like war drum, and he didn’t dare look behind him and his impeding doom via gravity, the threat of vertigo an unwanted addition to his 99 problems. 

With one strong shove, the man loosened Dave’s grip, and with a second one he pushed him off the balcony. Dave was falling, head down, on what was probably asphalt, his senses dominated by the falling sensation, and panicked out of his mind. The fall couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds. 

But when he hit the ground, he didn’t feel his skull splatter and decorate the road, but rather, its building materials enveloped him as he _dove into them_ , as if he were diving in a sea. 

And then, he woke up for real. 

His heart was still racing, and he was breathing very fast, but he was alive. He stood in disbelief, reliving the scenes, in rapid succession a few times over a couple of minutes. 

As he considered the dream, he realised it hadn’t felt like one at all. It was more like… a really vivid hallucination. He could remember the events as if they had transpired for real. Its entirety had felt real. 

Apparently, it had also been inspired by reality, because he had been drooling on a chair outside the dream as well as in inside it. Umbreon, too, was curled up on his bed. The only thing missing from the fiasco was his sleepiness, for that matter, and its absence was understandable. 

He picked himself up, looking around the room. The real room also lacked bodies. Maybe Darkrai had disposed of them? Probably yes. There was a note left on the desk next to the bed. He reached for it and read it. 

“That’s what’s coming for you if you don’t take your safety seriously,” it began. 

Yeah, definitely Darkrai at work here. 

“You look like a guy who needs entertainment, so I’ve left you an entertaining gift. Enjoy, _Dream Eater_ ,” the note concluded. 

And that was all there was to it. He burned the paper, shaved, and took his cold shower. There would be time to figure out Darkrai’s half of the deal, and how much he should be annoyed by its absence, after breakfast. 

* * *

“Hey, arsehole!” 

Sidney turned around, all too aware of who was shouting, and who he was referring to. 

“Hey!” he said, waving one arm, the other busy keeping his shoulder bag stable. “I see they discharged you at last. How are the wounds?” 

“They’ll heal. Will probably leave a scar, though,” Dave said, catching up to the almost-bald redhead. 

Sidney chuckled. “Great, now you have something to show off to the ladies. Ladies love tough guys.” 

Dave had caught Sidney at the airport—and barely at that, too. After all, he did have to apologise for the newspaper articles… Well, no, that was a lie. He wanted to get rid of Umbreon, and dump it on Sidney. 

“Ah!” Sidney exclaimed, falling to the ground. 

Umbreon had tackled him and was now yelling an assortment of combinations of the syllables in its name at him. Their time together being what it is, Umbreon had at least taken Dave’s words to heart, and was expressing its dissatisfaction with its former trainer in a most violent manner. 

Sidney eventually managed to contain the irritated beast, and stood up. 

“Someone’s not happy.” 

“I’m dumping it back to you. Here.” Dave threw the Premier Ball at Sidney, who, unlike Dave’s first attempts, actually caught it without losing his balance. 

“I take it you’ve arranged some kind of security for yourself, then?” he asked. 

Uh-oh. 

“Well, um…” Dave scratched the back of his head. 

And thus the ball was returned to him. 

“Tough shit then. Sad day for you. She’s a cutie though, I don’t see what your problem is with her.” 

Dave began slouching. “Oh, come on, man, you know I’m no trainer material!” 

“Then so be it. She doubles as a pet. You don’t have any pets. You could use a pet.” 

“I don’t want a pet.” 

“You need to expand your friends list, too. Umbreon’s a friend. You totally need more friends.” 

“Sidney, how many times do I have to say this, I don’t want your Pokémon. I’m a busy man. I have things to do, girls to hit on.” 

“Girlfriend!” Sidney snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. You ain’t never gonna get laid with that kind of attitude. And, you guessed it, Umbreon could totally work as a—” 

“ _Sidney_.” 

“Okay, I guess you’re right. She’s probably better off with me, anyway.” 

Dave cheered and shouted internally. At last, free to go! 

“I guess I should tell my colleagues about how deeply offended I was by the newspapers here…” 

At that point, all alarms went off. 

“No, no, no! Sidney, please don’t!” Dave yelled, his hands outstretched, palms open. “Please, they’ll have my head if you say anything!” 

“You mean Rachel will.” 

Dave nodded furiously. Sidney rubbed his beard, feigning deep concentration on Dave’s “intricate” points. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Dave, I’m going to have so many Pokémon to take care of, and you now know how stressful these things can be. I don’t know when I’ll snap and accidentally spill details to everyone within hearing range. If only there was someone willing to lighten my load around… I’d ask you, but you said you were busy.” 

So that was the game Sidney wanted to play, huh? His first comment had nailed it: _arsehole_. Dave really didn’t want to deal with this kind of bullshit right now. It was the exact opposite of what he needed. But he liked his head well-connected to the rest of his body, enough to concede to playing house to keep it that way. 

“Fine, you win. I’ll keep it—her,” Dave said, and put the Poké Ball in his pocket. 

“Great! All’s well that ends well, as the saying goes. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve got a plane to catch.” 

Sidney turned around, and walked towards his trip back home. 

“Oh, one last thing!” he said, turning around to face Dave again. “Put in a good word for me with Rachel, I could feel her hand on my cheek for three hours this time!” 

Dave giggled at the thought of Rachel rejecting Sidney’s advances so hard. 

“Fuck off!” he replied, but his tone gave him away. 

“Aye!” Sidney said, and turned around for good this time. 

As Umbreon whined about food, Dave thought about how incredibly long this month was going to be. The longest in recorded history. 

Things learned today: Umbreon’s gender.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in days, the food didn’t taste like shit. 

Rachel’s face became increasingly deformed as she watched Dave consume junk food. He had suggested they meet here so he could grab “a quick bite”, though the duration of the digestion had been considerably underestimated. 

He washed a big bite down with a soft drink, and exhaled loudly in satisfaction. 

“You’ve dyed your hair,” Dave noticed, as the hints of white and grey on Rachel’s head were replaced by a rather uniform blond. 

Rachel immediately reacted to the expected comment by picking up one of his chips and throwing it at his face. 

“If I hear another comment about my hair dying habits…” Rachel raised her finger and looked threateningly at Dave; she didn’t need to finish her sentence as Dave imagined the various ways in which she’d torture his testicles. 

Umbreon moved about and ate the potato chip on the floor. She began purring, drawing 8-shapes while rubbing herself on Dave’s legs. 

“And what is it with the fucking Umbreon?” Rachel asked. “Honestly, I thought you’d have dumped it on Sidney by now.” 

“Well, it’s not for lack of trying, I’ll tell you that,” he said, and took a shorter sip out of his drink. 

“And will you stop consuming this crap as if it’s the last edible material on Earth? It’s very rude. And annoying.” 

“Oh, lieutenant, you have no idea. This is the best food I’ve eaten in my life, I think. When you’re stuck in a hospital for that long, you get a deep appreciation for the baser pleasures in life.” 

Rachel rested her face on her palm, only half-believing the inanity coming out of Dave’s mouth. The more he went on, the more of her body’s weight went on it, and the deeper her facial deformation. 

“You were in the hospital for a week. One week.” She signed it with her fingers. “You’d have me believe it was the end of the world or something.” 

“If I had had food poisoning and died, it would certainly have been the end of _my_ world.” 

She would comment on the vast improvement her life would undergo if that had been the case, but she wasn’t much for indulging in “base pleasures”. 

“In fact,” Dave went on, “I think I’ve been infatuated with this ordeal to such an extent, that I’m considering opening a junk food chain back home.” 

“Oh, Dave, please do,” she replied immediately. She hadn’t meant to vocalise it, but her irritation had got the better of her. 

He was taken aback by the sudden support. “Seriously?” 

“Yes! By all means, file your resignation papers right now, and I’ll see to it that you’re relieved of your duties first thing in the morning.” 

Dave stopped being a barbarian with his food and leaned back, resting on his chair properly, to think about Rachel’s offer. In the few seconds it took him to reply, she took in her surroundings: the counter girl hating life, the children screaming about, the obese regulars, and the rest of Vermilion’s high class. 

“I’ll consider it, but not before getting some well-deserved days off, in a place far, far away, without ports and their distinctive smell.” 

Rachel kicked his left leg in retaliation. “I’ll consider it,” she mocked his voice, “but not before you tell me what’s going on with the impending lawsuit.” 

“I told you, Sidney’s not going to be offended.” 

Rachel leaned in, squinted her eyes, and shot death rays from her irises. 

“Alright, alright, you win. I’ll tell the whole story.” Dave leaned in as well, rubbed his neck, and began confessing. “I went to dump Umbreon on him, alright? And he mocked offence, unless I decided to keep her. So I did. Out of respect.” 

“Pfft, yeah, respect!” she snorted, but was genuinely relieved. She took her time to entertain herself with the oxymoron that was Dave mentioning respect. “And ‘she’?” 

“One learns new shit every day.” 

“Wow, this is a big day for you, then.” 

“Eh, not much into the whole Pokémon training thing, really.” 

“No, I mean, this must be the closest you’ve ever been to a woman. Keep it up, and in six decades you might even get laid without paying for it.” 

“Oh, come on!” Dave yelled. Everyone in the room turned to look at them, made sure no one was going to die, and they returned to their respective junk food. 

Quieter, he continued. “You, too? What’s wrong with you people?” 

Rachel raised an eyebrow, trying to understand what was being said. Eventually, it clicked, two plus two equalling four. She tried containing her laughter, to no avail. 

“Oh, please tell me Sidney made the girlfriend comment, too,” she said. 

Dave didn’t reply with words, but the look on his face was much more talkative. 

“He did! He so did! Holy shit!” 

He had embarrassed himself, but, inadvertently, Dave had kept his promise to Sidney about putting in a good word for him. Things could have gone much worse. 

“Okay, for real, though, I want out of here. Like, this city. It’s been getting on my nerves. The port, the smell, ugh.” He rolled his eyes. “I think the filth is becoming part of my body.” 

“Oh, trust me, I see what you mean. Smell it, even,” she conceded. “You should take some weeks off, to recover and everything. Celadon will detoxify you.” 

“I think—” he began, trying to stand up, but his sore muscles cut him off. With great effort, he succeeded the second time. “I think I’m going to take you up on that offer.” 

“Great.” She stood up too, and they shook hands. 

She left first, having ordered nothing, as Dave would have to pay the bill. A few steps towards the doors, he interrupted her. 

“Do you know what ‘Dream Eater’ is supposed to be?” 

“What did Umbreon see you dreaming, Dave? Was it embarrassing? Better pray she isn’t in heat,” she replied, and left the restaurant. 

Well, there was always the internet. 

* * *

At the end of the day, Dave’s time had been spent chasing after things; Sidney, Umbreon, his sanity. And, ultimately, it wasn’t just his time that had been spent, but also himself. 

As a result, he was now trying to make himself comfortable on the hotel bed, laptop on his, well, lap, blankly staring at the monitor, unsure of what to do, and too sleepy to figure it out. 

“Umbreooon!” yelled Umbreon from the balcony. 

He wasn’t particularly pleased with how his gamble had ended up. Darkrai’s end of the bargain underwhelmed, and Sidney not taking his fucking pet back wasn’t helping with his mood either. 

The fusion dance the foul air of Vermilion carried out with his lungs and cells went on with undiminished passion. Rachel, bitchy as she was, was right about the necessity of detoxification. 

Dave played the awesome things he ought to do in Celadon over and over in his head. The list read: sleep, sleep, more sleep, toilet, resume sleeping. His half-destroyed body would appreciate the rest, if not his mind. 

For that matter, Darkrai’s betrayal would have felt far less horrible if he hadn’t been injured so badly in the process. Dave’s analysis of his misfortunes was interrupted by Umbreon’s ever-louder repetitions of her name. 

“Oy, cunt!” he said, trying to get her attention. No response. “I swear, if you’re horny and this is some convoluted plot with Rachel trying to get me imprisoned, I’ll kill you!” 

Umbreon turned to face him for almost exactly one second, then resumed her business… whatever that was. 

Dave figured he might as well look up what a “dream eater” was supposed to be. A few keystrokes later, he found out it was a Pokémon move, which made it all the more perplexing. The only connection between him and Pokémon was one of necessity and irritation. 

If this was some sort of sick joke, with Umbreon now capable of performing _Dream Eater_ , he would unironically go homicidal. Go through all this trouble for… what, exactly? 

“Umbreooon!” 

A horny Umbreon, apparently. This conspiracy went _deep_ , man. 

He sighed, and looked for the fastest and easiest way to leave for Celadon. And so it came to pass that he would leave via train and never look back. 

Umbreon, discovering there would be no shagging tonight, or perhaps having a sore throat, returned to the inside of the room, greatly disappointed that Dave was occupying the bed. She curled up next to it, on the carpet. 

He figured he might as well join her, since his exhaustion was overcoming him and dominating all rational processes. He hoped he’d dream something standard tonight—as in, not dying—preferably a wet dream. That would definitely take him mind off the trainwreck that was his career choice. 

He turned off the lights and slept. 

* * *

Dave was eleven years old. 

School was out early—much earlier than usual—and he wanted to surprise his parents and have the rest of the day off. A glorious idea; one might say _too_ glorious. The sky definitely did. 

Soon after his departure from school, it had started raining. The rain went from a barely audible dribble to a cataclysmic downpour—well, cataclysmic from 11-year-old Dave’s questionable perspective. 

So now Dave was running, every step raising tiny waves of droplets. He was completely soaked, from the hair on his head to his underwear, every part of him was wet. 

The added weight of the water made his movements slow, and far too exerting. It made him feel heavy. He could almost hear his breaths over the deafening sound of the rain. He would feel the cold creeping up to him, too, but the heat of burning calories immunised him against that, for now. 

The clouds were covering the sky in all directions as far as the eye could see. It was noon now, but you couldn’t tell. A distinct “rainy” darkness had fallen on the town. It wasn’t like the darkness of the night, which swallowed everything; it was a desaturating one, reducing all colours to grey, blurring shapes and things together. 

After five minutes of running, Dave had arrived home. He stopped before the doorstep to catch his breath. When his heartbeat had been restored to a sane rate, he looked for the keys in his soaked pants. He opened the door, took off his shoes and socks, and entered the house. 

“Mom? Dad? I’m home!” he announced. Now inside, the sound of the rain was like background noise, and his voice was clearer, more distinct. Still, no one answered. “I’m soaked! I’m gonna go change,” he added. 

His fear of the hell he’d have to endure over being so wet was so predominant that it didn’t occur to him how strange it was not to hear any response whatsoever. He went upstairs, looking for the bathroom. 

Even in his hurry he couldn’t ignore the panting sounds—and the sounds of creaking wooden planks—coming from the bedroom; his parents’ bedroom. He interrupted his escape to the bathroom, approaching the source of the noise as silently as he could, not that he needed to put much effort in his ninja tactics. 

Said source raised more questions than it answered, though it did answer one too many. It was one of those things that Dave didn’t have any right knowing. In retrospect, it was probably an instinctive thing; something deeply wired in human biology for hundreds of thousands of years, so that you never really needed to be told about it. The onset of puberty probably helped, though. 

Roundabout descriptions aside, someone was fucking Ninetales, the family pet, and it was weird that Dave could identify that fucking was going on. 

The sight burned into his corneas permanently. He couldn’t shift his view, focus on something else, close his eyes, or even be spared during the milliseconds it took to blink. It did to observers what supermassive black holes did to local stars. 

He could almost feel his soul being poured out, consumed whole by the fox’s golden-white fur, ruffled by hands or motion, oscillating in wave-like shapes to match her movements. Her red eyes, occasionally obfuscated by the motions of her crest, though usually fearsome and perceiving, were now instinctively squinting in exhaustion and arousal. 

And most of all, her tails. Her huge, fluffy, long tails were performing these enchanting, elegant motions, completely out of touch with the crudeness of the overall performance, rubbing against against the naked skin of her lover, sheltering his entire chest and most of his back. 

Only by following her tails did Dave finally notice the man’s face. He fell on his back with a loud thud, making himself public. 

“Why, hello there, Dave,” Dave said. 

“ _What the fuck_?” Dave replied. 

11-year-old Dave was looking at grown-up Dave. He put his hand on the Ninetales’ back, stopping their mating. Then he approached little Dave with a massive, knowing grin on his face, like his conspiracy had gone exactly as planned. 

“What were you expecting to see, hmm? Daddy? It wouldn’t be as fun the second time, though. Been there, done that, the whole shebang.” 

Dave’s mouth was open, his brain frozen. Too much stimulation, too many thoughts were flooding him to process. His doppelgänger, these events… This was a dream again, wasn’t it? 

“What the fuck?” he repeated. 

“Well, this fuck, obviously.” 

Even surreal copies of him maintained Dave’s awful sense of humour. 

“Why am I, like, 11?” 

“Something to be said about the loss of innocence or some shit. I dunno, ask the literature major.” 

Dave lunged forward in an attempt to attack his other half, or a body part, or find a neck to choke, preferably. He thought he was pretty fast, but that wasn’t the only thing he’d ever been wrong about. His doppelgänger though, he didn’t step aside or kick him back or anything, no. He disappeared in thin air, and Dave passed right through him. 

“Oh, _come on_!” 

All Dave’s lunge forward had achieved was change his pose from being butt-down on the floor to face-down. 

“Sidney did always say you’re too transparent. Woe is me.” 

The pun, it hurt. He had never hated himself so much since… since he was a angsty teenager, actually. He pulled himself together and stood up. 

“By now you must be contemplating how far Rachel’s conspiracy goes,” the doppelgänger went on. “Rest assured, it probably goes nowhere, what with not existing to begin with. The causality behind present events is much baser.” 

Hot damn, he sounded like such a cunt when unveiling a conspiracy! At last, he understood Rachel’s side. 

Dave turned around to see where the voice was coming from, and saw no source. The disembodied voice of his doppelgänger was being inserted into his head directly. He was like the voice of reason that everyone ignores, except that he was neither reasonable nor easy to ignore, which in retrospect made the analogy terrible. 

“I’ve read enough smutfics to know where this is going, and I am _not_ giving in to your sorry-arse bestiality ‘temptations’.” 

“Tone down the moral brigade. No one’s looking.” 

“There is nothing for me to tone down!” 

As he said that, one of Ninetales’ tails rubbed against his cheek, forcing his attention back at her. She voiced her name in the sultriest manner a talking vixen could muster, on top of slow, “tempting” moves. She stared directly in his eyes, which was unnerving in that Ninetales lack irises. 

“That day was a glorious day. Walking in on Dad doing Ninetales must have been such a traumatic experience for poor 11-year-old Dave. In just a few moments, you lost a family member and a pet to the evil statist cops. Such a tragedy. Dave would be haunted by these events forever.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“That’s probably the narrative popular in local newspapers and your neighbourhood. But as any adult comes to realise, reality has a well-known politically incorrect bias. Trauma? What trauma? Mere seconds into your peeping misadventures, you wanted in on the action.” 

His inner voice of unreason was getting on his nerves. He wished for him to shut the fuck up, so that he’d wake up already. But no matter what he did, no matter how aware he was of the dream, nothing seemed to wake him up. He was trapped in his mind, in that bedroom, on that wooden floor, listening to bad voice-overs, tormented by Ninetales’ rocking tails. And the ranting would go on. 

“You can’t deny you’ve felt some of the… charm returning. The thoughts used to dominate your life. Every day, multiple times a day, you’d fap furiously to the vixen and bewail your original reactions. You’d wish you hadn’t raised hell. Maybe Dad would step aside and let the next generation take over. You lusted for her animal sphincter caressing your underage cock.” 

“Shut up!” 

“Do you really believe you can muster a fake denial without me knowing it? Do think it’s your vocal chords you’re using to communicate in here?” 

The doppelgänger… had a point. Dave gulped hard. 

As if aware of his apprehension, Ninetales dramatised the shitty exposition. She turned her back at him, and lowered her front body. One by one, she slowly removed each of the nine tails forming a massive lump on her behind—almost as big as the rest of her body, actually. 

Contrary to his opinion, Dave’s hypocrisy was proven not by what his reactions were, but what they weren’t. For the entire duration of that ritual, he never looked away, or commentated on what was sure to happen. Instead, all his senses remained glued on Ninetales, and what he could only guess were her privates. 

He was so indulged in the ritual that he didn’t hear his own heavy breathing. He didn’t notice his heart beating like a jackhammer. He didn’t even notice his erect penis, now being pressed annoyingly and awkwardly between his body and his tight, wet underwear. Just like when he first saw her, she dominated his consciousness, as if by spellcasting. 

And when the ritual was complete, and all her tails were swaying mid-air in alluring patterns and shapes, he was greeted by her swollen anus, unnaturally wet. He followed the trails of wet fur down, noticing tiny puddles of the liquid had formed on the floor between her rear legs. 

“Face it: you want her. You never wanted anything else more in your life. You’d shoot a nun in the face if only you could get a chance to push Ninetales’ shit in, to waste your sperm in a Pokémon’s bowels.” 

Ninetales wobbled her arse ever so slightly, moaning “Tails…,” to accentuate the doppelgänger’s point. She curved her tails to be convex from Dave’s perspective, their ends framing her in such a manner that drove attention to the relevant anatomical feature. 

And though Dave hadn’t noticed his previous reactions, he certainly noticed that one, because the surrealism, and overstimulation, and the depravity of his thoughts pushed him over the edge. He was ejaculating. 

Or rather, he would have been, if a different kind of arsehole wasn’t in charge. He groaned loudly, reaching halfway to his genitals, before stopping himself. He did bend his knees together, though. 

“Sorry, princess, you’re not taking the easy way out with your own conscience,” the bad comedian having fashioned himself the defiler said. “I want to hear the magic word. Curious what a Ninetales’ arsehole feels like?” 

“No,” Dave said, but he wasn’t the least bit convincing, in that his voice had come out broken, and hardly audible. His breathing had grown so heavy and frequent that he had to breathe in through his mouth. 

So it was no surprise that no one gave up. Ninetales’ anus was opening and closing every few seconds, a circular mouth made up of small bulbs of wrinkled muscle and flesh, almost as if it had a life of its own. Every time that happened, tiny droplets of liquid flowed down to her labia, and from then fell on the floor, or kept flowing down her hind legs. 

Gazing into her shit pipe, there sometimes was a sticky trail of the liquid suspended in the middle, stuck on opposing ends of her rectal walls. It was so inviting, it was as if copulation was the _intended_ purpose of the hole, not defecation. As if… if he unleashed enough of his seed in it, she’d shit out his taboo babies a few months later. 

“I didn’t catch that, Dave.” 

“No…,” he repeated, this time with even less heart in it. Truthfully, it was getting incredibly hard to resist. He wanted release, or he was going to go mad. No, that was a lie. He didn’t want just _any_ release, he wanted Ninetales’ arsehole; a taste of hell itself. 

“I didn’t _hear you_!” the doppelgänger screamed. 

“Yes!” he replied, this time with spunk. He took his shirt off. “F-fuck…! Yes!” He took of his pants and underwear, and tossed everything somewhere, anywhere, it didn’t matter. “Clear enough?” 

“Enjoy.” 

His narrator headmate finally silenced, Dave let go of his hesitations, thoughts of Rachel’s conspiratory involvement, and the lectures drilled into his head by mental health workers over the course of a decade. He fell down on his knees, finally within reach of the fox, his most forbidden fantasy. 

He grabbed her buttocks, feeling her soft fur and fiery warmth on his palms, letting some of the strands flow between his fingers. His hands felt small on her, a result of his physical age in this grandiose hallucination. He tightened his grip, digging in her body fat, the softness of her insides matching her silky fur, groomed to perfection, as if it were human hair. He moved his thumbs to the inside of her butt cheeks, closer to her anus, and spread them apart. 

“Ninetales!” she squealed, wiggling her butt ever so slightly. Her anus had opened very easily, even with his teenage boy grip strength; far too loose and far too lubricated for any realistic experience. Then again, in real life, he’d already been cursed or attacked to death by the creature. It was good that this wasn’t real, and Dave began realising the appeal of the experience. 

But he didn’t have time to finish contemplating metaphysics, especially not with a Ninetales’ arse in his face. Close up, he could now see her bright red rectal walls, her gape wide enough to allow some ambient light in. Lubricants once again flowed down, and from up close, he could certainly feel an above-average body heat wave assaulting him. 

Still being wet from the rain, the ensuing chill up his spine made his decision for more intimate contact easier. He moved in, planting a kiss on her arse, licking up excess fluids. He could feel the fur of her tails, spawning as extensions of her spine, rubbing against his forehead, though Ninetales had bent them back towards her for his convenience. 

He moved his hands from her butt to her tails, petting them softly, earning a well-timed “Tales,” of satisfaction from his lover. He moved his body even closer to her, wanting to feel more of her heat, and stretched his hands all the way forward to reach her back and the edges of her mane. 

Ninetales responded by wrapping all nine of her massive, fluffy appendages around Dave, caressing his entire body, almost hiding him in a protective shell of golden-white fur. 

He penetrated her anus with his tongue and enjoyed the insides of the fire type. The taste was undeniably bitter and salty, and there was the characteristic body odour of, well, a sweaty arsehole, but in context, the experience was arousing. The male brain could get over much of its disgust when motivated by fucking. 

Neuroscience trivia notwithstanding, his sense of taste was dulled by the sheer heat of Ninetales’ intestines. It felt like hot coffee or tea; though not scalding or otherwise unpleasantly hot, he didn’t want to know what a real fire-type which didn’t hold back would do to his skin, and he’d seen enough forest fires to fuel his imagination. 

He played with her inner sphincter and toyed with her insides as he rubbed her back or belly, taking in the heat and softness of both her fur and flesh, to the sound of her constant cooing. She rubbed her tails on his body, surrounding him with her warmth, and as a result he was now completely dry. 

Save for his penis, of course, which was oozing pre-cum in anticipation of the main event. When Ninetales began rubbing her tails on his penis and testicles too, he knew she was begging for the same thing. He moved his head and one hand back, inserting a finger in her arsehole. Ninetales responded by moving her butt up, like a cat would, speaking her name between pants as Dave pumped his finger, simulating future events. 

When he was done finger fucking her, he stood up, popped his head through her tails, and took hold of his cock. There wasn’t much to work with, given the situation, it being barely larger than a finger, and almost completely bald. However, it would have to do. 

He placed his hands on the middle of her back and moved them slowly towards her butt, as he moved closer to her arsehole. The tip of his penis touched her anus and felt its warmth, as well as her intestinal lubricants mixed with his saliva; a most illegal sensation. It was incredibly arousing, and he would have ejaculated prematurely right there, but perhaps the doppelgänger had left him with a gift of unrealistic stamina to go with everything else. 

Ninetales once again wrapped her tails around his back and arse, but now she also pressed him towards her, yearning for penetration as much as he. And who was he to deny her? He pressed forward as well, entering her rectum with barely any resistance at all, her rectal walls enveloping his underage penis. 

She was obviously loose, something exacerbated by his underwhelming proportions. However, for some reason, that made it all the more arousing for him, thinking of her as his depraved anal slut, perpetually gaping, shitting nothing but her own lubricants and his semen, her intestines marred by constant use they weren’t intended for. 

The warmth of her arse could only be compared with a hot bath; it was on a whole other level. Her rectum pulsated involuntarily, losing and making contact with his penis, leaving some of its fluids behind like a passionate kiss. 

Dave breathed out slowly with a low sound, lost focus in his eyes, and eventually closed them. He took in the incomparable feeling of being inside Ninetales’ promised tailhole. It was bliss. Nirvana, even. There would be no judge or purgatory for him after this, only public execution and hell. 

His penis pulsated in anticipation, which woke him up from his pondering of long-lost faraway wisdom, and back into more pressing current events. He looked down on Ninetales’ back, arching ever so slightly to match his height. He was barely taller than she was despite her being a quadruped, making the experience more comfortable for everyone involved. 

He placed his hands on her back and mane, rubbing the vixen’s soft, fluffy fur again. The softness would never get old. With some pressure from his hands and the movements of his hips, he slowly pushed back, removing his penis from her arse. The rubbing sensation was unmistakable, and so was the suction of her sphincter, not wanting him out of her body. 

He misjudged his length and pulled all the way out—understandable in that _losing_ length so drastically is hardly an everyday occurrence outside feminist dystopias—but Ninetales’ looseness made that an easy problem to fix. 

“Tales! Nine-ninetales!” she exclaimed, waving her butt, so that his penis hit on various sides of her shitter in an incredibly arousing sensation. One needn’t learn the fine art of repeating one’s name to realise she was telling him to get a move on and fuck her shit pipe. 

So he did. He began slowly, both taking in the texture communicated by friction, and her anal suction. When his breathing wasn’t covering it, he could hear some slapping sounds, courtesy of the lubrication. With the added massage of her tails, now even wrapping around his shoulders, it was very much a full body experience. 

As he got a better idea of his body size, he gave in to his arousal and began pumping faster. He wanted to ravage her anal tube and imprint his cock’s shape in it, so that she would never forget him. Her tails’ grip on him became tighter, and so did her body heat. He was sweating not so much due to exertion, but due to his tail-fur jacket being a living sauna. 

He pressed down on her, feeling the shape of her bones and muscles. He was moving his hips furiously now, and his hearing was dominated by “Tales! Tales!” whenever she could actually articulate something more intelligible than a grunt. Every time that he pulled out of her poop hole, one of her tails would involuntarily twitch, and slap him ever so slightly on the back. 

He could actually _feel_ her arousal through her rising body heat. Dave was sure that were she actually that hot to begin with, he’d probably refrain from touching her. He bent down, his chest closer to her back, and wrapped his arms around her chest. Their heads close, he could hear her breathing, smell her sweat, and feel her mind-rendingly rapid heartbeat. He dug his hands in her chest hair, and planted a kiss on the back of her head. 

He knew he was close. He was grunting due to the effort now. He rocked his hips as fast as he could—so fast he was worried about cramps—penetrating the fox’s arsehole. He wanted to fuck her forever. His whole life meant nothing. He was now reduced to his penis, fucking her shitter. 

He yelled, then he had release. He let all of his semen in her bowels, his potential babies finding no womb or eggs, only a scorching heat and faecal matter. He kept pumping as he was ejaculating, his vixen mate yelling maniacally. A few seconds later, it was over. He closed his eyes again, clutching Ninetales’ hair, and closed his eyes. 

* * *

When he came to, he was on his bed in his shitty hotel room, having ruined his boxers. He was panting as if he had exercised in real life, his heart beating furiously. He thought of nothing for five minutes, staring blankly at the ceiling. The hospital ceiling had been far more interesting than the hotel ceiling. 

He had realised two things: that there was a weighted lump on his left, which was Umbreon curled up and sleeping on the bed, and that Darkrai’s idea of entertainment was him chasing tail. 

It was still far too dark out. He closed his eyes, and slept again. This time, he’d try shoving far more than an underage dick in Ninetales’ arsehole.


	3. Chapter 3

Turns out Dave had been a bit too optimistic when he hoped to wet his pants with more wet dreams, because nothing had come. Well, besides himself in said pants, that is. There was no more Ninetales tail to be had, only sleep. 

That made him wonder how much of the experience he had hallucinated, and how much was legit. Of course, _none_ of it was literally legit, but he was considering whether he had hallucinated himself hallucinating in a grand recursive hallucination of insanity. 

So up another layer of thinking, Dave wondered whether besides physical therapy he also needed some mental, too, cause recursive hallucinations sounded like serious business. Someone’s Ph.D would most definitely be helped by studying Dave. 

“Excuse me,” someone said, and opened the door to Dave’s room, breaking him out of his navel-gazing exercises. 

Dave was on a train to Celadon now to “detoxify” himself. Speaking of which, maybe Vermilion’s atmosphere had affected him. Like the shit and the exhaust engines reacted with one another in a melting pot of awfulness, producing methamphetamines and hallucinogens… Probably not. Shitty theory. 

He’d brought Umbreon along, because leaving her to rot in Vermilion seemed far too abusive, even to him, the Pokémon sodomiser. Given his track record, maybe he _should_ have left her to rot, because, hey, she’d have escaped sodomy. Not that he planned on turning that joke into reality, but he had thought about her heightened smell and how awkward it should have smelt sleeping next to him. 

And perhaps because of that, Umbreon had lost herself. In fairness, trains are fun things to explore, and he doubted she had had much “outside time”, wilderness notwithstanding, while training with Sidney. He only hoped she didn’t howl at other wandering Pokémon to get laid—if she _had_ been trying to get laid, at any rate. Rachel’s conspiratory involvement in getting him in jail was still an open question, after all. 

Dave’s departure from Celadon might seem hasty by almost all accounts, but, truthfully, he was still on the same set of clothes as when he initially arrived in Kanto to help with the Team Rocket zombies. His hospital stay wasn’t exactly formulated beforehand, though whether it had resulted in an overall improvement in his life was equally debatable as the hypothesised conspiracy. 

So, there he was, in a train cabin, enjoying his ride, and the trees he passed by in full speed. 

“Come in!” he said, and two men entered. Highly nondescript. Shitty choice in clothing, though, like something out of those vintage monochrome films. 

One of them had difficulty entering, because he had brought the most massive of bags along. It was absolutely hilarious in size. Dave played a game, and tried to figure out whether a human could fit inside. It would be a tough fit, if at all possible, because he’d have to bend in really awkward ways. 

“Compensating?” he joked. The man seemed confused by the joke, and stared blankly at him. 

“Uh, ha ha,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “I hope not.” 

“Cello player,” the other man said. “Too precious to let others handle it. 

“Hah, yeah. If my livelihood depended on it, I’d be carrying it around everywhere with me, too,” Dave conceded. Thoughts of Sidney’s lectures on security and Umbreon almost surfaced, but were carelessly brushed aside. 

Not much was said afterwards. Dave focused instead on the fuckery that was his life. Assuming he wasn’t, in fact, losing his mind, realistic wet dreams would be very entertaining, just as Darkrai promised. 

However, he remained apprehensive. Too much was unknown about his latest misadventures. Who was his doppelgänger, and what did he want? Did he have any control whatsoever over what he dreamt? Not being able to wake up could be potentially dangerous. What if, next time, he tried fucking a critter’s prolapsing anus, and it grew teeth to bite his dick off? 

He shuddered at the thought. _Evil images, go away._ He didn’t want any subconscious aspect of himself getting any ideas. His soul was tortured enough already, and he didn’t need anyone’s contributions, including his own. 

An hour or so later, he had arrived to Celadon. Umbreon was still nowhere to be found, but not much of value had been lost. Actually, he did secretly hope she’d see through the little dumping operation he had devised and failed at on her own initiative, thereby fixing her trainer’s mistakes. Well, her original trainer’s. 

Dave’s co-travellers didn’t seem eager to leave, so he was the first to excuse himself. He stood up, waved goodbye, and placed his hand on the door to open it. He never quite finished the motion, because he was interrupted by the insurmountable finesse of a strike in the back of his head. He instantly fell like a rag doll physics experiment. 

Before hitting the ground, the man who hit him—the one lacking a giant “cello” bag—put his arms under Dave’s armpits and stopped the fall. The rushing footsteps of the passengers moving outside could be heard. He turned around to his partner, who had opened the bag, revealing it was empty. 

Dave’s previous thought experiment turned out to be true. A man could actually fit in the bag, and it was a very awkward fit. His neck and legs were bent in what must have been the most uncomfortable pose ever, but he did fit. 

“He’s heavy,” Dave’s attacker said. 

“You’re out of shape. Be happy he fit nicely.” 

And the men left the train, with no one suspecting anything. 

* * *

Dave tried opening his eyes, and he had the most horrible headache. Everything was blurry and overexposed. It was like being surrounded by light. It would have been the afterlife if his neck didn’t feel so sore. 

He realised he was lying on the ground. He didn’t know what he was doing on the ground. He didn’t know whose ground it even was. He stood up, still half asleep, and rubbed his eyes. Equipped with better eyesight, he discovered that… the floor was shining pure, featureless white, forever in all directions. 

Not the afterlife; he was dreaming again. 

He turned around, trying to find someone or something. And there he was, his doppelgänger, standing behind him, smirking, wearing a pretentious suit. 

“It’s a bad time to be sleeping, Dave,” he said. 

“You again,” Dave replied. “What’s it gonna be this time, huh? Am I going to be fucking a Metapod? What is this place, even?” 

“Which one do you want me to answer first?” 

Oh, the smartarsery was back in full blast, wasn’t it? Alright. So be it. He could play. 

“How about telling me who you are, because the two of us being one and the same is throwing my internal narrative off.” 

The doppelgänger laughed out loud and gestured an imaginary handgun at Dave. “Good one! But I must disappoint. I’m exactly who I seem to be. Appearances do not lie in this particular case.” 

“Sorry, but that doesn’t make any sense. How could you be me? I’m a funny, upstanding guy, not a perverted Poképhile anal fetishist. I have a steady job and a horrible pet. Everything is going fine, then you come in.” 

“I’m all the bullshit you repressed, Dave. I’m all the fapping sessions you chose to forget, all the embarrassing fantasies that came back to haunt you at night. I’m the part of you you never quite accepted, and I’m here to advise you.” 

“So you’re, like, the anti-Dave.” 

He shrugged. 

“I’m going to call you Vade, then,” Dave decided. “Do you mind telling me where you’ve taken me?” 

Vade pointed at the ground. “This is you dreaming,” he said, flatly, as if he was pointing out the obvious. 

“Riiight… I might be losing my mind, but I do distinctly remember my dreams being more vivid than a jizz sheet.” 

Vade laughed out loud again. “That’s the downside of Darkrai’s interference, I guess. You can no longer dream normally.” 

Dave hopped up and down, testing the pressure on the floor. “And what do I get in return? You? My own personal hallucination?” 

“Nah, that’s just you. You’re the Dream Eater now. You can do whatever the hell you want in your sleep.” 

Epiphany, at last! Dave could start putting the pieces together, though he still doubted Vade’s story of secretly being Dave. 

“It didn’t feel like ‘whatever the hell I want’ the last time. It was more like ‘Oh I’m a demon and I’ll guide you down the path of sin, mwahahaha!’” 

“Touché. I was admittedly messing with you.” 

“Had enough? Ready to let the big guy take control?” 

“Actually, I had been planning on messing with you a bit more…” 

Uh-oh. 

“Buuut…?” Dave said. 

“But you’re kind of in a mess, you might get killed, and I didn’t want to waste the opportunity to boast about my achievements.” 

Wait, what? 

Before he could make any sense of what was being said, Vade approached Dave and slapped him in the face, _hard_. 

“Ouch! What the fuck?” 

Vade slapped him a second time, and this time he woke up for real. 

* * *

“Good morning, sunshine!” an alien voice greeted him. Dave groaned unintelligibly. Another slap, lighter this time. “Get on with it! We don’t have all day!” 

Dave was getting tired of all these abrupt context changes. He tried rubbing his eyes again. He couldn’t. Something was stopping his arms. He put more and more strength in trying to raise them, until he realised he had been tied to a chair. He also felt the distinct soreness of being stuffed in a bag in an awkward position for way too long. His previous wounds had just started healing, too. His luck was out of this world. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” Dave asked, not really sure who he was talking to. In fairness, they had shoved a fucking lightbulb right against his face, and he couldn’t make out much of anything. 

Dave was slapped again, but this time it was closer to a punch. “I’m going to ask the questions here, not you. Get it, sweetheart?” his kidnapper said. 

“You’re one of those cunts from the train, aren’t you?” 

Yet another slap. 

“Man, you need to call a BDSM line, get that pent-up anger out of your sy—ow ow ow.” This time, Dave was kicked in the balls. “Fuck!” 

“And you need to learn when to shut the fuck up. Get it?” 

“Sure, baby. What should I put in the sandwich?” 

His abductor tried punching him, but was stopped by someone behind him. 

“That’s enough.” 

Dave opened his mouth and moved his jaw, making sure nothing was broken or badly damaged. Everything seemed to work fine, save for his cheeks, of course. No missing teeth or anything. Everything was properly connected to his body. 

“So,” he began, reassured by his relative health, “which brand of wackos are you guys? I swear, I tried finding a way to pay for those pizzas, but I couldn’t find the name or the address of the restaurant. You didn’t make it easy, what with moving to eleven different places before I—” 

“Dude, we’re Team Rocket,” a third person said. They sounded like a woman. 

“Team Rocket? Ohhh, right!” Dave said in mock epiphany. “You’re butthurt about that Vermilion thing, right? Look, personally, I hold no hard feelings. You could file a complaint to the Global Police, and I will personally deliver it to my superiors so that you can have your—” 

And Dave was punched, this time from a different side. It had a different feel to it, too, so he was pretty sure it was a different person than before. 

“I thought you said ‘that’s enough’,” his previous torturer mumbled. 

“He’s way too annoying,” the other man said. 

So, there were at least three people in the room with him. This being Team Rocket, each one had at least two Pokémon on them, probably a poison or a dark type, and there most certainly was at least one out of its Poké Ball so that he could be killed promptly. Which raised one question: why wasn’t he dead? 

“Why am I not dead? What do you guys want? If it’s money, I wouldn’t count on the Global Police cooperating with you. They have very strict policies on terrorists. It’s not like a while back when you destroyed most of Kanto and then got wiped out by a teenager and his— _fuck!_ ” 

Dave was kicked in the belly in retaliation. In all honesty, this was going much better than expected. They were supposed to be asking him questions, but instead he had derailed every attempt to a sarcastic monologue. He should write a book some time. “The Story of the Shit Detective,” an autobiography. _“In a world where true spies are false, one man endured many blunders…”_

“You know, we could keep going for a while. As long as it takes. You could talk forever, but there’s quite a few of us here, and there’s only so much beating a human can take.” A rather superficial threat, since if they _really_ wanted him dead, any rational person would do it directly rather than in the most roundabout way humanly possible. Then again, this was the terrorist organisation a teenager almost sole-handedly destroyed… 

“You’re not as smart as you think you are, you know that?” another person started. “You didn’t take any precautionary measures. You’d think someone of your calibre would be more serious about his own security, but this was child’s play, really.” 

“I heard he got an Umbreon from Sidney,” the female member said. “I heard he wasn’t too excited about it.” 

“You gave it back, you idiot?” 

Dave shrugged. “What can I say? She was in heat. Do you guys know how annoying an Umbreon in heat is? Shit got awkward, man.” 

His captors mumbled amongst themselves, seemingly agreeing with what he said, though he did catch a distinctive “Pokémon go in heat?” in the distance. 

“Will you people shut up?” someone among them said, silencing the lot. Then Dave’s interrogation resumed. “I have one question for you, and I want a straightforward answer, or you’ll be receiving a straightforward amputation. Where is Darkrai?” 

Dave sat there, and considered how much time he could afford. He gave it some _serious thought_ , because limb regrowth was still a few decades in the future, and he didn’t feel like waiting that long. 

“Honestly, I’ve no idea. Bastard just ran away while I was sleeping. Or floated away, I guess.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you went through all that trouble out of the goodness of your heart, hoping it would reward you with the means towards global domination. _Come on._ I want a real answer.” 

“You’d be surprised by how much you got right…” 

“Which limb should we start off with, boss?” someone asked. 

“Help me out, Dave. Which is worse: never walking into a bar again, or never getting to enjoy the spoils of a bar?” 

“I wouldn’t be worrying about _my_ limbs in your position.” 

They all laughed. “You think you’re in any position to make threats? Okay. Go ahead. Entertain us. I might even refrain from cutting your tongue off if it’s legitimately funny.” 

“Well, see—” 

Dave had this most amazing comeback in mind, however, as fate would have it, no one heard it, because a Hyper Beam melted the walls off, and sent solid building material chunks flying towards the Rockets, crashing them to the wall on his left. The blast thankfully took out the lights up against his face, so Dave could see that he was in a badly lit, badly cleaned basement floor. Probably under Game Corner. 

As the dust cloud settled a bit, Umbreon walked through the hole that had been created on the right wall, followed by a Tropius—likely the cause of said hole—followed by a little girl with short, black hair in a yukata. He wasn’t much of an expert on the subject, but he made an educated guess she was Erika, Celadon’s gym leader. 

“You cunts!” Dave complained. 

“Oh, mister Holder!” Erika exclaimed, raising her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry for endangering you! I did tell Tropius to take it easy, but—” 

“No, the Hyper Beam was fine, I’m talking about the timing! Timing is everything!” 

Erika was terribly confused by Dave’s great offence. He did seem aggravated, but his words indicated that it had nothing to do with him being abducted, or being so close to a potentially lethal Hyper Beam, for that matter. 

“Umm, pardon?” 

“I was in the middle of this awesome comeback, and now the listeners are unconscious or half-dead! Ugh.” 

“O…kay, I guess.” 

_Of course_ Dave wasn’t stupid enough not to take any security precautions before travelling to Celadon. And of course he wasn’t stupid enough to think that a lowly Umbreon could help protect him against Team Rocket. He legitimately sucked as a trainer, and he had no delusions regarding Umbreon’s ability to take down multiple opponents at once. Besides, most battles are won or lost by surprise, not power. 

He wanted to protect himself with something that would give Team Rocket some _real_ pain, something to teach them not to mess with him unless they craved hell on Earth. So, naturally, he told Umbreon to make herself scarce, and if she saw anything suspicious, to sniff out his location with her superhuman Pokémon senses, and then try to communicate the problems somehow. 

It had worked like a charm. Actually, it had worked better than he expected. He thought he’d be saved by his colleagues in the Global Police, not Erika herself. Then again, Erika had a thing or two to prove, what with Team Rocket messing with her gym last time. 

“Okay, untie me, please.” 

A Rocket tried standing up and reached for his Poké Ball belt, but Tropius used Magical Leaf on his face, knocking him unconscious. Meanwhile, Umbreon bit on the ropes tying him, and they fell to the ground. 

“Now that this is taken care of, please follow me, mister Holder, and please watch your step.” 

Dave wouldn’t lie that being given instructions by a cute little girl he knew could wipe the floor with him didn’t emasculate him, but he had no right complaining after his evil split personality convinced him to fuck a Ninetales in the arse. He lost all claims to overflowing testosterone in one fell swoop. 

* * *

It was evening, and Dave was staring blankly at the Game Corner, sat in the rear end of an ambulance, feet barely touching the ground. Doctors had forced him to remove his shirt, and he couldn’t be arsed to put it back on, so it was hanging lazily on his shoulders. 

He wasn’t too sure how exactly the situation had escalated, but one thing led to another, and now Game Corner would have to be shut down for months for repairs. Probably for the better, since it had always been a haven for criminal elements. Rachel, at least, would be pleased he was capable of shutting more things down than her career. 

As for Umbreon, she was sleeping on the ambulance bed that was meant for him, naturally. The little shit had some serious issues with personal space. It was rather suspicious how she strategically misunderstood the aspects of human behaviour that conflicted with her being a self-centred cunt. Then again, that would make her identical to Sidney, so things had come to full circle. 

He was particularly entertained by the owner of Game Corner, who was bewailing the aftermath of Tropius’ Hyper Beams. If the obese man kept at it, he’d need the ambulance, and specifically its defibrillators, way more than Dave’s sore muscles ever did. 

His entertainment would have to be suspended, however, as Erika had finished dealing with the media, and now it was his turn. Lights and microphones turned to him. 

“Mister Holder, are you injured?” 

“Mister Holder, was this a planned operation?” 

“Mister Holder, some people say you’re out to level the Kanto region. What do you say?” 

He raised his hands to block the blinding lights and to calm the pack of 5-year-olds down. 

“Okay, okay, calm down, one at a time.” He stepped down from the ambulance and stood straight. “I wasn’t really harmed, I only suffered some bruises. I was on my way here on paid leave, but I expected Team Rocket would retaliate in some fashion. I had made plans to counter these attempts, and this is the result.” 

A particular journalist, who Dave recognised had taken his previous interview in the hospital, stepped forward. 

“Mister Holder, would you say that your lack of preparedness escalated things?” 

“No, smartarse, I’d say my plans worked out excellent. I lead a gym leader straight into their headquarters. Sure, I got punched a few times, but it was worth it.” 

The moral panic brigade went on like that for a few minutes before the police had to step in and herd them back to the kindergarten. Erika, feeling sympathetic to his plight, approached him to make his day worse. 

“You’re a weird fellow, mister Holder.” 

“I’m not taking any criticism from the girl who almost destroyed Game Corner with Hyper Beams.” 

Erika opened her mouth and raised her hands to counter-argue, but noticed the dust left on her clothes by the walls she had ordered destroyed, and decided looks alone would invalidate her every point. 

“Also, please call me Dave. Everyone else does, and you’re throwing off my groove.” 

“Okay, Dave. I wouldn’t want to throw off your groove. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” 

He raised a hand to his chin. “Hmm, let’s see. I had booked a hotel room, but I missed my check-in by a really long shot due to being held hostage, so it’s going to be fun trying to explain that one away.” 

“I could help.” 

“You would?” 

Erika hesitated, as if weighing her words. “Yes. It would be unfair if the man who helped me correct past injustices didn’t have a place to sleep tonight.” 

By which she meant that she wanted those motherfuckers deader than disco after making a fool of her last time, and Dave’s misadventures were the optimal opportunity on a silver platter. 

“Alright, I can’t argue against that, I suppose.” 

Thus Dave secured himself a hotel room. 

* * *

Dave woke up on the glowing white floor again. He stood up, and was greeted by his doppelgänger, Vade, who seemed remotely pleased that the both of them were still alive. 

“Am I going to wake up in limbo every time I sleep now?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess. Don’t take offence at the featureless void that is your mind.” 

“Am I going to wake up tied to a chair too?” 

Vade shrugged. “That depends. Are you into bondage?” 

Vade started walking around him, almost surveying him. This ought to be the creepiest metaphor for looking at yourself in the mirror possible. 

“So…,” Vade began, “About that Erika girl.” 

Five words in, Dave could already see where this was going and he wanted precisely none of it. His previous excursion would offend enough people already, and he didn’t need to make the follow-ups any worse by including actual people in them, and specifically people who could literally order him melted. So he raised his hand and interrupted what was sure to become a stupid comment. 

“No.” 

“You have no ambition, Dave! Aim higher! Aim for more!” Vade groaned. 

“Dude, the direction you’re thinking of is lower.” 

“Eh,” Vade flicked his hand dismissively. “Direction is a matter of perspective.” 

“More like mirrors. Besides, there’s not much to aim for in limbo. I could aim for you, but I doubt that’s the direction either of us have in mind.” 

“It’s up to you now,” Vade said, raising his hands in surrender. 

That was weird. “What do you mean, it’s up to me?” 

“I mean that I’ve been demoted to commentator. You’re in charge.” 

That clarified nothing. Instead of asking another obvious question, Dave crossed his arms and stared at his copy until he got the idea. When he did, he rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. 

“You are _the Dream Eater_ , dude, and this is your dream. You’re, like, a deity in your own head. Whatever you think of, is.” 

Still not getting it, Dave raised one of his hands to his chin and maintained his uncomprehending poker face. Vade closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. 

“This scenery is rather stale. It would be _really good_ if you could think back to your old neighbourhood,” he suggested ever so unsubtly. 

Dave wasn’t quite sure of the point of the exercise, but there was nothing to lose. The scenery was indeed stale and the exposure was getting on his nerves. So, he closed his eyes and thought back to said old neighbourhood, the same one Vade had him running through with rainfall. 

And as Vade had suggested, just as he thought it, it… became. Complete with rainfall, thanks to accidental flashbacks. 

“There you g— Oh _come on_!” Vade exclaimed. “I knew it was a stupid-arse decision to trust you with any kind of authority. I just knew it. That’s what I get for counting on the moralfag part of me to make sane decisions.” 

The both of them were getting considerably wet. “This feels surprisingly realistic,” Dave said. 

Vade raised his hands to his hips, walking back and forth, not looking at Dave. “Yeah, well, it fooled you for a solid amount of time previously, so it’s pretty realistic. It’s actually the other way around. Your conscious brain emulates most of your experiences and memories, because it really sucks as a storage or sensory organ.” 

It was peculiar listening to himself give him information he didn’t know before. By all accounts, it should be impossible. Then again, it did jolt his memory a bit. So Vade was better at remembering stuff he had read at some point in the past, or he remembered it before he could, and his thoughts manifested as Vade in his dream. Dave would consider seeking therapy if he wasn’t afraid of jail time. 

Vade turned to him again. “Look, man, can we go somewhere sunnier?” 

Conceding to this rare sane suggestion, Dave moved them on a green hill with a single tree and a rock. 

“Thank you.” 

“So, I have free reign here, right?” 

“Yes, that’s the point.” 

Dave tried wishing Vade away. It actually worked. Vade disappeared, nowhere to be found. 

“You’re a cunt,” he said in headmate narrator mode. 

“Shut up.” 

It was funny. He’d spent most of his life fantasising about things, dreaming of the most elaborate and insane situations, but now that he could do anything he wanted, he was starved for ideas. 

“Spawn Erika,” his stupid half suggested. 

“Not happening. Maybe I’ll get some more Ninetales action. You did leave me wanting for more the last time.” 

“That’s _boring_. Why would you do the same thing two times in a row? Are you going to marry your hallucination?” 

“Uh, no.” 

“Good, cause that would be crazy. Open yourself up to variety like a healthy single man with multiple personality disorder.” 

“Erika still ain’t happening.” 

“Fine, whatever. I’m sure there’s some middle ground to be found here.” 

Dave sat on the big rock under the tree. Remembering his wet clothes, he imagined them dry. Then he considered what sort of middle ground would satisfy Vade so that he’d shut up. He wondered whether wishing him gone forever would work, and then he wondered whether wishing death upon himself would count as suicide. Shortly after, his decision showed herself. 

“Leafeon,” she announced upon seeing him. 

“Ha! Good one! Not quite I had in mind with ‘middle ground’, but your interpretation is admirably literal.” 

“Shut up for real now,” Dave said. He looked at his creation and leaned back, resting his weight on his hands, inviting the Pokémon to approach him. She moved close to him, her footsteps barely audible on the grass. When she came within reach, Dave stretched his arm and petted her head. 

She was quite short, he realised, as he moved down to pet her light brown back. Her head would be below even his hip in an upright position. That, or he’d got too used to the 11-year-old version of himself. 

She began rubbing herself on him, drawing 8-shapes between his legs. The constant movement made petting her more difficult, although she did rub her cheek against his hand wherever she could find it. Dave began noticing a change in the smell of the air; the clean oxygen had migrated to a more… arousing mix. He had definitely begun noticing the difference in his pants. 

Leafeon stopped rubbing herself on him, and looked at his face. “Leaf,” she said, drawing his attention. He leaned in closer to her. As he did, she turned around, her leaf-shaped tail drawing a cute arch in the air. Her arse turned to him, she moved her tail straight up to present her goods. 

Dave stood up, his resistance to depravity much lower than the last time. He unbuttoned his shirt and his trousers, throwing them together with his underwear behind him somewhere. It didn’t matter. He knelt down before her, once again noticing how short she was. He’d have to be on all fours to be at the same height as her. 

He noticed the sweet smell of pheromones in the air was coming from her genitals. It was a much different smell from what Ninetales offered. Much less of sweat, and more like… a flower, actually. Her being a grass type, it all made sense. 

He moved in to taste the source, surrounded by the cutest, puffiest lips he’d seen in a while. He placed his hands on her hips, and when his tongue touched her labia, she began making cute sounds. Her tail fell down and rested on the top of his head, as he traced circles around the critter pussy. 

She tasted like sweet nectar, like honey, but with less surface tension. She was hot, but not nearly at the fiery level of Ninetales. Instead, his nostrils were being assaulted with everything she could throw at him. It was almost hard to breathe, but his arousal kept him going. 

He moved his hands to her underside, rubbing her soft, green chest hair. He penetrated her pussy with his tongue, entering the mother lode of her juice. The intensity burned against his tongue not like heat, but like spice, almost numbing it through overdose. The substance made him light-headed and the experience a blur. It was amazing. 

Finishing his lunch, he looked again at her beautiful, innocent-looking pussy lips, with their variety of colours, from the red blush of her skin, to her soft fur, transitioning from light brown to green at the ends. She was begging to be defiled. He stopped eyeing her, and tried penetrating her with his finger. He had some difficulty getting the first two knuckles in, her vaginal walls tightening around his appendage. Leafeon panted her name, her front legs giving in, lowering to the ground. 

He removed his finger, glistening with her arousal. Only then did it cross his mind that her small stature might interfere with the fucking. She was very well lubricated, true, but Leafeon cunts were built for Leafeon cocks, not human ones. During the fantasy Vade had set up, the size discrepancy was a non-issue, which made him realise some of the usefulness of the setup. 

“This is going to be a tight fit,” he thought aloud. 

“You worry too much,” Vade replied. 

“Huh? What are you talking about? I don’t want to rip her apart. Leave your gore fetish elsewhere.” 

“Dude, you’re in your mind. Do you think things are capable of breaking? Do you think there’s anything corporeal to break in the first place?” 

He had a point. Dave shrugged. He moved back closer to Leafeon, who was shaking her arse sideways invitingly. He inserted his index finger again, putting the other on her hip to apply pressure. Once he had the second knuckle in, he replayed Vade’s snark in his head, and took a leap of faith. He twisted his hand, moved it back a bit, and then inserted a second finger, his middle one, into Leafeon’s tight vagina. 

“Leafeon! Leaf! Leafeon!” she protested, raising her voice, but with sufficient effort, Dave’s second finger did fit in. She was tight enough to give him trouble with his blood flow. Her heartbeats could be felt through her vagina, her heavy breathing rocking her whole body up and down regularly. 

Encouraged, he tried spreading his two fingers apart. It was incredibly difficult, but it worked. Her tiny pussy spread, and he could see a bit of the bright red that were her insides, a beautiful contrast with her light brown and green fur. He moved his other hand to the lower part of her pussy, rubbing her little clitoris, barely visible between her labia and her fur. 

He began pumping his fingers as well, Leafeon’s pants increasing in volume and frequency. She was breathing so fast now. Motivated by her arousal and stretchability, he tried shoving a third finger in her canal, bringing the cute grass type to climax. There was a gush of juices, showering his belly in Leafeon lubricants. 

Dave removed his fingers from Leafeon’s vagina, and it was left gaping for a second. He was rock hard by now, and didn’t expect to last long, but then again, he didn’t expect Leafeon to stretch that far either. Vade was right: whatever he thought, was. It didn’t have to make sense. He could probably fuck her peehole with a horse cock, and it would still work if he suspended his disbelief sufficiently. 

He put his hand on his cock, and smeared Leafeon’s lubricants on it. He rather enjoyed his adult size, perhaps overstated by an inch or two in his dream. Compensating in his sleep was quite the hilarious thought, but then again, his imagination’s vividness deviated enough from the median for it to cross the line between self-esteem issues and genius. 

Leafeon’s protests for increased urgency meant Dave’s excursion in the psychological dynamics of his masturbation would have to be redirected to more mundane applications; namely, Pokémon pussy. He lined up his cock to her baby maker. He was rather curious of the size discrepancy now, so he pressed forward, his pole sliding right between her hind legs, applying friction on her clitoris. 

“On!” cried the critter, aroused by the contact. Dave wrapped one of his palms around her back, his fingers reaching her underbelly and his organ. He was right; if he attempted full penetration, he’d reach halfway to her stomach. His inner critic advised against what was bound to fail, but Vade’s calls for a little more imagination won. 

“Creative thinking, Dave,” he told himself, pulling back, and going in for penetration for real. Her labia spread apart, and her vaginal entrance stretched wide open to accommodate her human lover. 

She yelled her name with protracted vowels as Dave managed to get the head of his penis inside, her walls gripping him like the inescapable choke of a late night wrestling match. More lubricants were released to ease the insertion on an object not meant for that species to enjoy. 

Gradually, Dave progressed, and a minute or so later he was mostly inside her, with just a little less than a couple of inches left to go. He’d reached a point where he couldn’t penetrate further, and by Leafeon’s spasms and cries every time he touched that end, he was pressing against her cervix. 

It was fortunate that Vade’s suggestions were the dominant ones now, cause if the critic held more than a distant sway, Leafeon would have chopped his dick off with her titular leaves and left him there to bleed to death. Compared to impromptu sex change operations, he hadn’t cut that bad of a deal. 

Leafeon had become accustomed to his size by now. Her tightness didn’t fight against the blood flow in his dick, for one, so his sense of heat and friction had returned to notice the pleasant warmth and wetness of Leafeon’s cunt. Some of her fluids were dripping out of her, despite the seemingly airtight lock, and her seductive smell reached up to his nostrils. 

With her hind legs stretched all the way up to match his height, but not her front ones, there was an alluring arch in her spine. Dave put his hands on her back and butt, taking in the feeling of her fur; not as long as his previous mate’s, but still soft, like well-tended grass. 

He pulled out, experiencing the suction that Leafeon’s hole had produced. Her entrance moved outwards, stuck on his penis, to match his movements, before returning to their original position, like a trail of meat. Then he thrust forward again, meeting some resistance, but significantly less than originally. 

When inside, her cunt didn’t want him out, but still made him work for his reward every time he tried getting back in. It was as moody as a teenage girl on her period, fittingly so. Dave intensified his thrusts, leaning down to Leafeon, putting more pressure on her back to ease his effort. 

Every so often, he became too excited and scraped against her cervix, making Leafeon shudder and pant in a higher pitch than usual. Her insides reacted too, tightening around his cock. She seemed to be enjoying the stimulation. Dave most definitely did. 

His only grievance was that he wasn’t fully inside her, which made him bottom out more and more often as he got more excited. Eventually, Leafeon could take no more, and her shudders intensified to an orgasm, way before he was near it, her vagina tightening like never before. It brought his pistoning to an end. He was glad her mouth wasn’t turned in his direction, as her scream was remarkably loud. 

With her orgasm, Leafeon’s hind legs gave weight too. He managed to support her weight with his hand before he slipped out completely, but this was going to become a problem now. Would this session have to end? He was extremely aroused, and he most definitely didn’t want to be blue-balled in his sleep. 

_Creative thinking_ , he remembered. He placed both his hands on Leafeon’s sides, turning her around, legs up, able to face him directly. Her eyes were half-closed and unfocused due to strain, and her chest was visibly moving with deep breaths. He put his hands under her, supporting her butt in the air, as her upper half rested on the grass. 

Re-energised by the cute look in her face, and the depravity of force fucking the quadruped, Dave resumed his thrusts, now with even more force. He was pressing against her cervix every time now, sending shivers down Leafeon’s spine, making her legs jerk in random directions every time. 

Dancing to the music of the slapping sounds and Leafeon’s syllabic cries, Dave wanted to fuck the living shit out of her. The little slut had shown she could take far more than what he expected. He wanted to fuck parts of her nothing should ever enter, and impale himself in her deepest cavern. He wanted to waste his seed in a womb he could never impregnate, unleash sperm in the wrong species’ meat pipe, his potential offspring committing seppuku in the name of his pleasure. 

And after a dozen thrusts, his dream became reality. Something inside Leafeon gave way, and he could penetrate further than he could before. At first, he didn’t notice, focused on screwing her living shit out of her. But then, he felt the unmistakable grip of an entrance around his shaft, and then the feeling of a whole new cavity. 

He was in her womb. He looked down on Leafeon to see her positively losing her mind. She orgasmed again, putting a pause to his thrusts. He doubted she was aware of much of anything beyond his dick spreading her wide inside her. Lower, he could make out a tiny bulge, the tip of his penis, showing in her belly. 

The sight aroused him further, and propelled even more powerful thrusts before she was done orgasming. Fluids were gushing out from her pussy, wetting his testicles; he was balls deep inside her now. He felt her cervix refusing him exit, and then reluctantly opening wide, giving him entry to Leafeon’s innermost chamber, the storage space for the children she’d never have. With every thrust, the bulge caved in and then reappeared, every time in a slightly different location. It was such an erotic sight. 

He was loving it. The thought of using the furry creature as an oversized pocket pussy felt awesome. Invading Leafeon’s reproductive pipe felt awesome. Bestiality felt awesome. Being a sick bastard was in all imaginable ways awesome. 

That was the thought that brought him over the edge. He entered Leafeon’s womb one last time with a powerful thrust, his organ visible through her flesh, and unleashed his jizz directly inside it, ready for stirring. Leafeon’s eyes rolled back, apparently coming as well, or perhaps having been coming this entire time. 

Dave pulled the creature away, exiting her pussy, pulling a little bit of both her mouths with him. Her juices and his semen were spilling out of her hole, gaping widely, her abused cervix aching and visible for anyone willing to stare inside. He let the Leafeon rest, her mouth open, her tongue poking outside. 

As a last motion of depravity, Dave leaned in and kissed Leafeon, penetrating her tiny open mouth with his tongue, tasting her animalistic saliva. In accepting his nature, he had ironically become one with nature. 

Vade ought to be proud, if not shuddering at the horrible pun. 

* * *

When he came to, Dave found himself with ruined boxers in the middle of the night again. Sleep quickly took over, as he was exhausted by the long day and the mental strain of the ultimate form of masturbation. 

Or perhaps it was just the sleeping powder of the Exeggcute in the corner of the room, eating his dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

With the insurmountable elegance of an Exploud’s lullaby, Dave was woken up by his cellphone. And had the elegance been limited to that, it would have been fine, but the woe that were Dave’s reflexes contributed, and consequently Umbreon, who in now characteristic respect for humans’ space had been sleeping on his lap, introduced her own reflexes to jump straight up and hit the underside of Dave’s chin, stopping his gasp and screams, and compromising the integrity of his tongue. 

“Umbreon! Um, um, Umbreon!” yelled Umbreon, greatly confused and annoyed by the state of affairs. Perhaps merely annoyed. 

“Mmm!” groaned Dave, having a mouth, but not having to scream desperately enough to risk opening it and suffering more. He’d only scratched his tongue on the side, but hot damn did it hurt. Meanwhile, the cellphone kept on going. 

Umbreon, in response to the device that refused to shut up, started yelling her name at it. Surrounded by the trinity of evil that were his nerves, Umbreon, and mobile telephony, Dave picked it up to defuse the situation. 

“Mm,” he mumbled. 

“Good morning, my mute sunshine! How does verbosity find you today? Cat ate your tongue?” Sidney said from the other side. 

“Mmm!” Dave complained. Meanwhile, Umbreon, butthurt about being woken up in a manner most unfitting of royalty, was nudging Dave into an upright position. After enough pressure, Dave conceded and stepped up, at which point Umbreon hid herself under the covers. 

“I am surprisingly correct this time. Between you and I, Umbreon is not insured against whatever damage she inflicts upon you, so I claim no responsibility.” 

“M-mm! Mmmm. Mm…,” Dave said, expressing his deep interest in the financial affairs of his dear friend, Sidney. 

“So, as I was saying, I was reading the news the other day—yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Sidney, you can read? Wow, the Elite Four sure does love its socialised education, doesn’t it? That the only perk of the job, or are there more creative ways to mug innocents, literally at gunpoint?’” 

“Mhm,” Dave agreed. He didn’t agree to the straw campy libertarian homosexual persona he used to communicate his emulated thoughts, but you gotta work with what you got. 

“But there you have it: I was reading the news, and, lo and behold, you were on the frontpage again! ‘Sidney, go light on the LSD, dog. Why would I be on the frontpage on Hoenn newspapers? Do I look like a talentless teenage pop star breaking down emotionally after driving under the influence? Cause I’m not.’” 

“Mm.” 

“Strange as it might sound, I had the sneaking suspicion I might want to check up on Kanto news, cause I had this feeling; this aura, even; a foul air of eventfulness that are your farts. ‘What the fuck, man? I thought I had been real careful with fucking your—I mean my Umbreon! What kind of arsehole would install a spy cam in a public restroom in Vermilion’s ghetto, I swear…’” 

“ _Mm_!” This “fucking Umbreon” running gag was getting old and it had to die a swift but horrible death. 

“I have the headlines right in front of me, for that matter. Just listen to this: ‘Dave Holder out to level the Kanto region.’ Well, that’s aggressive. Or this one: ‘Detective Holder’s trainwreck of a career choice still endangering polite society.’ Man, hope you stocked up on those Burn Heals. Or, my favourite: ‘Dave Holder: nihilistic double agent, or Horseman of the Apocalypse?’ You’re making a killing, bro! I mean, literally, too. We’re literally mourning victims here—well, perhaps _mourn_ is too strong a word for Rocket grunts, but still.” 

“Mmm…,” Dave groaned. 

“Man, I can’t wait for when Rachel gets her hands on this. Speaking of Rachel, did you put in a good word for me, as I requested? ‘Fuck you, Sidney, I hope you die alone.’ Joke’s on you, baby; I’ve got the best pussy in town.” 

“Absol?” his Absol said over the phone. 

“‘Ha, ha, very funny, Sidney. Your puns are the best. I’m laughing so much, I can’t even speak properly.’ Well, that’s all, I guess. That was a very engaging conversation we’ve had. I’ll catch up with you later. Share Rachel’s going haywire! Toodles.” 

_Toodles_? Motherfucking _toodles_? Sidney did need to go light on the LSD. Thankfully, he hung up, so Dave wouldn’t have to endure his perpetually stoned state any longer. It nevertheless took him quite a while to recover, staring blankly at the display, questioning his mother’s decision to bear him. 

When the display shut itself off to save battery, the difference in luminosity woke Dave up from his depressive episode, at which point he decided nothing but the coldest of freezing showers could restore him to life. He proceeded to do just that, Umbreon still comfortably snuggling with the pillow that was rightfully his. 

* * *

With less oral trauma and cellular acid trips, Dave decided to exit the hotel. What with his stay in Kanto having no prospect of ending any time soon, he should go buy some more clothes, because the ones on him had gone through way too many adventures, and it was showing. His exit was interrupted by the receptionist, however. 

“Mister Holder,” he called out. Dave began pondering what hilarious plot twist would take over his life this time. “We do not allow furry creatures in the hotel, which is why we’re going to file a lawsuit for damages in excess of seven billion, which you are free to pay back by working for us as a stripper in our subsidiary in Unova,” he imagined. 

“Miss Erika said you should go meet her when you woke up,” was what was actually said. Alas, reality had conditioned Dave to think so pessimistically that his imagination was officially worse than reality itself, which was a considerable feat, in light of his recent life experiences involving hospitalisation, an assassination attempt, getting mindfucked, and abduction. 

He was not sure what Erika wanted from him. “She wants your dick,” he imagined Vade would say if he had the misfortune to experience his commentary wakefully, too. But again, with his luck, Erika might really want his dick, in the sense of nailing it on her wall to celebrate the destruction of the patriarchy. She wouldn’t be entirely unjustified in wanting him dead, either. 

Perhaps in consideration of vast man-hating conspiracies, Dave prioritised buying new clothes to visiting Erika. The reasoning behind it was that if he looked less like a hobo, Erika would feel less inclined to murder him, what with sending “good, upstanding citizen” vibes. Devil’s advocate argued that new clothes might have the opposite effect, communicating his affluence and privilege to Erika. 

Both thoughts ultimately conceded to the undeniable reality of the latest events having left his wardrobe severely battered and uncomfortable to walk around in, thereby making the new purchases almost a matter of public hygiene. 

* * *

Equipped with the latest and greatest from the land of flowery swag, Dave then proceeded to the gym, where he assumed he’d find Erika. The prospect of the unknown brought back some paranoia, which was interrupted but in no way subdued by a call from Rachel, the other woman in his life with good reason to kill him. 

Apprehensive, he answered the call. “Yes?” 

“Didn’t I tell you to call me before dealing with journalists? Actually, didn’t I tell you not to deal with journalists at all?” screamed Rachel on the other side. As a matter of fact, she did say both, but Dave was never a devout follower of her teachings. 

“Y-yes?” 

“I swear to my mum’s grave, Dave, if I lose my job over this, I’m gonna come over there and do things to you you didn’t know were possible to be done on your body.” 

That threat would have sounded horrible a week ago, but he had already had things done to him that he hadn’t known were possible to be done on his body, so his reaction ended up being a verbal shrug. 

“Meh.” 

“Don’t you ‘meh’ me! Grow up! Why do you keep getting into trouble? Why is your trouble always explosive or virtually indistinguishable from terrorist activity? Do you need a shrink?” 

“I, uh… don’t know?” 

That was rather conveniently an answer to all three questions. 

“You are a public relations catastrophe. I don’t know how you even made it in the Global Police. I’m going to find who cleared you and make sure they blame their joblessness on you, too.” 

“Look, let’s all calm down for a short while, okay?” 

“Don’t you tell me to calm down!” She yelled that so loudly, Dave had to increase the distance of the speaker from his ear, or he’d have to consult a doctor in addition to a psychologist. 

“Okay, calm up, then.” Rachel groaned. “I mean, I did lead you to a whole bunch of Rockets, and put an end to their activities with a distinctive sense of finality.” 

“The sun going supernova is final, but not the kind of finality most people are looking forward to.” 

She had a point. But to be fair, he hadn’t truly expected Erika to appear and Hyper Beam the place up. He’d honestly thought a couple of his colleagues would have shown up to rough them up without putting controlled demolition experts to shame. He communicated as much to Rachel. 

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, people are going to think it’s a duck.” 

Rachel might want to consider going light on the LSD, too. 

“What?” 

“It doesn’t matter how much you think you’ve helped; if everyone thinks you’re spreading mayhem, then you’re going to be treated like a source of mayhem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try salvaging what remains of my integrity, and you better hope it turns out good.” 

She ended the call. Well, that was entertaining. Dave had a bad track record the past few days with absolutely bewildering conversations and circumstances. Umbreon stared idly at her surroundings, not catching onto the remotely delivered threats to Dave’s professional and perhaps physical well-being. 

He decided not to focus on the future lest he encounter clinical depression, and instead live in the present. Thus, he stood before Erika’s gym, which was no less disturbing than said mood disorder. He had an unmistakable sense of woe, agony, and, in fact, tears. Why, he could practically _hear_ the wailing. 

And indeed, a young woman walked out of the gym, almost crashing into him, running off in the distance, trying to hold back her tears. Yet another Pokémon trainer encountering the major roadblock to her career that were the gym leaders, he assumed. Now, if teenage angst was the only thing his internal woe-meter had warned about, everything would be swell. 

He eyed Umbreon, who looked back up at him in supreme indifference. He wanted to hope that, if things took a turn for the worse, Umbreon would discover her inner comic book heroine, transform into a magical girl and take out the evil tentacled monsters that grass types amounted to. Dave rarely got what he wanted. 

So he entered the gym, even if it led to suicide, and was met with plants and oestrogen in that order. If ever there was a secret feminist conspiracy planning to take over the world, these would be their headquarters, for there was precisely one male in the entire building at the moment, and that was Dave. 

If it were any other day, he would rejoice at the prospect of being in the middle of this harem. However, with his paranoia having inflated to roughly the size of the observable universe, he wasn’t going to start enjoying anything but his adrenal glands running out of fuel. His heart was beating like a tachycardia sufferer being prescribed bradycardia medication because the local pharmacist dropped out of etymology class and yet was allowed to keep his job as a public hazard because small government aficionados had taken over the regulatory committees. 

He walked past the hanging gardens of Celadon’s gym, nodding just enough at Erika’s underlings surrounding him to not look awkward, but no more. He did find it a bit weird that none had approached him to challenge him, which was simultaneously a good thing in that he didn’t have to explain himself, and a downer in that his “security precautions” gifted by Sidney were interpreted as the blatant quadruped joke he always knew they were. 

He walked up to the podium that housed the fighting ring and Erika herself. Her Pokémon were out and busy tidying up the place from the tragedy that had doubtlessly been the previous fight. The smell of disappointment was still evident from the challenger’s side of the field. Having seen how she’d handled the Rockets, Dave had newfound certainty in choosing not to become a Pokémon trainer. 

Erika noticed his approach. “Oh, mister Ho—Dave. Good morning. I see you’ve received my message, then.” 

“More of a request, really. You’ve been busy this early on.” 

“It was terribly unexciting, honestly. Goodness, some of these new trainers just make me…,” she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hate being interrupted and making a mess of my gym.” 

“Naturally,” he said, taking in the sights of Erika’s gardening skills. Being the last things he’d see, the shrubbery didn’t look all that bad. He was ready to enter the afterlife peacefully now. 

“I had something I wanted to discuss with you,” Erika said, and began walking towards the wall on his left, and the door behind which she could enjoy murdering him privately. “Please,” she beckoned him inside. 

Erika’s private chambers were in many ways similar to the rest of the gym, the walls lined with plant pots completely unidentifiable using Dave’s nonexistent taxonomic skills. There was furniture and pillows in the room, but no bed, so Dave guessed Erika’s proper residence lied elsewhere in Celadon. 

She entered after him, walked behind him and sat on a cushion. She gestured on another, politely requesting he follow suit, perhaps so as not to strain her neck looking up at him. Afraid of being accused of height privilege, Dave obeyed. Needless to say, Umbreon had already made herself comfortable in another cushion in the distance, returning to her precious beauty sleep that seemed to last 20 hours a day. 

“You lead an interesting life, Dave,” she said. 

He chucked. “Ha, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions.” He wasn’t being modest. “A few days ago, I was constantly complaining about how mundane and boring my life was.” 

“But no more?” 

“Actually, I could use some peace and quiet now.” 

“Hmm.” Erika seemed to be deep in thought, as if weighing her words very carefully. “I wonder what brought about this sudden change?” 

He laughed as politely as he could. “I wouldn’t know, really. Perhaps fate is finally paying me back?” 

“So, do you believe in fate, Dave? I had you for a firm believer in cutting out one’s own destiny.” The direction of the conversation was creeping him out. There was a deafening silence. “Perhaps your interesting night life is related to Darkrai, then?” 

“I, uh… what?” 

“Oh, there’s no need to maintain pretext. I too very much enjoy constructive naps, and I couldn’t help but notice yours were far more constructive than usual. I thought you might want to part with some advice, as one loyal fan to another.” 

Wait a minute. None of this made any sense. There was in fact some sort of conspiracy going on, but it did not involve his death. On the other hand, all his secrets were now loose. How where they loose? What was Erika expecting out of him, exactly? 

“I don’t understand,” he said. 

“Oh, I had Exeggcute stalk you in your sleep last night,” she said, with her tone never changing from the cute, high-pitched whisper expected from the serene leader of Celadon’s gym. The dissonance made it all the more creepy. 

“I must admit, it wasn’t what I expected. I mean, I didn’t know what to expect, save for the obviousness of your peculiarity,” she continued. “But nevertheless, I was a little overwhelmed. The indecent thoughts, I can fathom, but as for the rest…” 

_Oh boy…_

“Are you sure you don’t need a therapist?” 

“I’d rather remain therapist-free and not risk imprisonment,” he admitted. 

“Don’t we all. Don’t we all,” Erika muttered. “Well, I suppose the source of your entertainment is inconsequential. I am far more interested in how entertaining it is. Do you agree?” 

He was still not sure where this conversation was going, so he opted for the safe approach: playing ball. 

“I guess.” 

“I don’t want to be judgemental, but with abilities as unique as yours, isn’t it a waste, and dare I say selfish not to share them?” 

Dave would have loved having a mirror in front of him, as his grimaces ought to be priceless. It was as if he could vaguely follow Erika along, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“I don’t understand what you mean by _sharing them_.” 

“Though unrefined, your dreams are a delicacy. Why should only you get to feast on them?” 

“Um…” 

That was it, then. That was the conspiracy’s master plan, after all. He had bet they wanted him dead, and that was a miscalculation. They wanted him to grind perverted dreams instead. He would be drugged and locked up in an old dungeon for eternity, getting mindfucked day in, day out, until he lost touch with reality and his rational faculties, and all that remained was sodomy. 

“That’s why I called you here, to help you reconsider your career choice.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Well, I don’t want to be crude, but you could be compensated very handsomely for your services. Healthy things are nice to consume, but I sincerely believe there has to be balance in nature. Don’t you? Even the prettiest flowers wither away, rot, and smell bad. They end up being…” 

“Junk?” Dave offered. 

“Well, yes. One can’t subsist on sterilised things only. I think dreams are much the same. And as the trailblazer in eating dreams, you should lead in that endeavour. Why be an insignificant part of maintaining the order of things when you can lead in the reintroduction of… junk?” 

In other words, he should open a junk food chain. 

“So, how exactly do I selflessly share my services?” 

“I’ve been thinking…” 

* * *

Dave’s first contact with the economic capital that was Saffron wasn’t through political corruption, or unsupervised derivatives trading, or desperate hookers tending to the needs of men with more cash than their houses’ bricks weighed, but through collapse. And not some financial metaphor thereof, but physical collapse, as in collapsing on the ground, panting and heaving and almost dying. 

He did consider how strange the sight ought to look to passers-by, but as with many things recently, Dave had let go of decent emotions, such as shame. So he lay on the street, looking up but not really seeing anything, trying to regulate his breathing. His bicycle’s wheels were still rolling, making clicking sounds, and Umbreon was surveying him, confused as to whether he needed immediate hospitalisation or immediate disregard. 

As with the previous ones, the story behind this episode of Dave’s borderline demise was surreal and karmic in dosages as equal as the genders. Erika’s plan involved acquiring a Technical Machine of extremely limited availability, for which he had to travel to the nearby city of Saffron. “Sure, why not?” was his reaction, because Saffron was right next to Celadon. What could possibly go wrong? 

Amidst the neverending mindfuck that his life had devolved into, he forgot one of his Ten Commandments, his High Concept, even; in fact, let this henceforth be known as Dave’s Law: whenever you have to ask yourself “what could possibly go wrong?”, the universe will align itself in such a fashion as to make everything go wrong, particularly the impossible rather than the possible. A modern omen of bad luck, so to speak. As opposed to, say, black cats, like the one he dragged behind him wherever he went. Quite the suspicious coincidence, in retrospect… 

Back to the topic at hand, Dave had gone to the train station to commute nearby. So focused was he on making sense of his psyche, that it had slipped his mind that that had been the very train that had carried him into Saffron, by the very same company that was now conducting a thorough investigation because a grown man happened to get kidnapped and disappear without anyone taking note. Because, unlike him and some of his friends, there were people who took legal matters very seriously, a thought whose absence would have worried Dave if his potential anti-psychotic prescription wasn’t already monopolising his worries. 

Sans obvious ways to commute, Dave gradually moved to ones whose obviousness was the inverse of his desperation, and one thing led to another, until he was biking to Saffron. He soon discovered that masturbating in your sleep proper exercise did not make. That, and his body remembered it had received the full brunt of one too many Pokémon attacks earlier this week, backpedalling what little physical therapy he had undergone. 

Only now that he was lying on Saffron’s streets did it occur to him that Erika was the proud owner of a Tropius, the same one that had levelled the Game Corner yesterday, and which was fully capable of flight. Not that Dave was a big fan of hanging on for dear life as a Pokémon flew him about, but it was suspicious how Erika hadn’t so much as mentioned the possibility and had left him to his own devices. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect a nefarious plan, but his more encyclopedically literate part suggested that Erika was napping, as she is somewhat infamous for. 

Putting the surrealism behind him, Dave had his resurrection, and moved on to a new age, a brave new world, the land of shopping malls and supermarkets 47 stories tall. Frankly, that kind of world kind of sucked; he would prefer a 47 story tall hotel, its rooms occasionally welcoming teenagers putting their high school sex education to the test, but mostly empty beds on which he could laze the rest of his days away and hope he wasn’t rubbing his face on the aftermath of a post-menopausal orgasm. 

The next thirty minutes of Dave’s life were wasted on franchises that had and would never stock the merchandise he was after. Though its two gyms might indicate otherwise, Saffron was home to a single, small, and humble Poké Mart; the towering skyline of the metropolis did provide many outlets for vapid shopping therapy, but not all that much tending to the needs of trainers. He didn’t even want to imagine how annoying it had to be supplying not one, but _two_ gyms filled with professional trainers. No wonder the Celadon–Saffron commute lines were so popular. 

After confusion only comparable to the heads of mathematics undergrads first encountering the zeta function, the resulting summation of all natural numbers to -1/12, and the associated delays with changing their major, Dave was finally in what was properly labelled as a Poké Mart. Not publicising the similes his internal narrative subsisted on, he spoke his request in a manner unfitting an institutionalised case with a sudden love for Riemann. 

“I’m looking for TM85, Dream Eater.” Though the the process was long and arduous and he’d never want to repeat it, he was pleased that he had reached his destination and acquired his trophy. With the Technical Machine in his hands, he would be able to give Erika’s plan a try, and then, perhaps… 

“Hold your horses, champ,” a woman resting her elbows on the counter said. “That one is destined for me, you see.” 

And _of course_ no part of this excursion was going to be easy. Never mind. Dave would solve this trivial issue with his top-notch persuasion skills. 

“Destiny notwithstanding, this is an urgent matter. I wouldn’t insist if it wasn’t of professional value.” 

Dave thought he had her with that. He really did. Dave had a habit of being very wrong. 

“You don’t say?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, dripping sarcasm like a hydroelectric power station dripped water. 

The giggles from the store owners hinted to him that something was amiss. He reassessed his situation. A few moments in, it clicked: the purple tank top, the black hair, and those ridiculous bracers; he was talking to Sabrina. He was so fucked. 

“Oh, _come on_!” 

“Language,” she chastised him. “I take it you’re the poor soul Erika sent for? Though, looking into it… ‘poor’ is inappropriate wording.” 

“Wait, how did y— Oh, right. Psychic types.” Sabrina nodded. “Alright, so how do we do this?” 

“How do _you_ want to do this?” 

“It’s not up to me. Cause if it were, I’d give up on it and we’d each go our merry ways. In fact, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place. I would probably have bought a big box of cigars and boarded a cruise ship for the Sevii Islands for the next five years or so, at the end of which I’d go skiing elsewhere for a change of pace and temperature.” 

Sabrina grinned widely, twirling her fingers, as if in anticipation of something. “I see how it is now. You value your head’s attachment to your shoulders more than my authority. Sounds sensible.” 

He wouldn’t have worded it like that, but it wasn’t inaccurate. Sabrina eyed Umbreon, who was hopefully immune to the psychic expert’s manipulation. They do say hope dies last. 

“I think I know what you’re trying to do. Tell you what, drop by the gym in, say, twenty minutes, and I’ll make you a proposition.” 

“Do I have a choice?” She shrugged. “Did you know this was going to happen?” Another shrug. “Is the universe fucking with me?” 

He didn’t say that last one aloud. 

* * *

Dave opened his eyelids with about as much effort as what enduring haemorrhoids in an hour-long post-laxative shit following six months of constipation ought to require. It did not occur to him how strange his capacity for over-the-top comparisons was in a semi-conscious state. It did occur to him that he had no particular reason to feel this sleepy. 

He arrived to the inexorable realisation like an anarchist to an appreciation for the government and its courts following domain name and intellectual property disputes, but with less blatant hypocrisy and more repetition, so in hindsight very unlike the anarchist: he was tied to a chair. Again. 

“ _Oh, come on, man_! You said this wasn’t going to happen any more!” he yelled. Actually, he’d said this was a function of his BDSM fetish, but never mind the trivialities. Looking around, he took in the sight of the apartment he occupied. Hipster minimalism, wooden floor, everything painted orange because of the setting sun, too many floors for this to be anything but a gym leader’s booty call resort in Saffron. His genre savviness had definitely received an upgrade, as if in response to his degrading luck. 

“Who are you talking to?” a woman, undoubtedly Sabrina, asked, wearing her amusement on her sleeves. 

“I, uh…” He looked around more. A suited copy of himself lay tied up and motionless in another corner. Somehow, this felt doubly uncomfortable. 

“Pardon me asking, but which one of you is, you know, you?” 

He found the question very strange for the first half a minute, but then noticed how Vade looking identical to him meant no one could tell the two apart, which explained Sabrina’s strategically equidistant positioning between the bodies. 

“I’m Dave. The other’s my doppelgänger. Before you ask,” he stopped her with her mouth open, “I’m roughly as illuminated on the subject as you are. I call him _Vade_ , if it helps.” 

Sabrina couldn’t contain her chuckle. “ _Vade_ , you say?” This time she laughed much louder. “That’s so creatively uncreative. My goodness. Erika must’ve had a hell of a time with you.” 

He didn’t comprehend much of what was being said or was occurring. He should have been in the gym, where he was set to discuss the— _ohhh, right_! The top-notch Umbreon security was paying off once again. Sidney truly was looking out for him, yup. He should write him a thank-you postcard from the afterlife, peppered with cocaine and promptly reported to the nearest policeman for drug dealing. 

Conveniently, it happened to answer the question of why Erika hadn’t helped him acquire the Technical Machine to begin with. Why, if she’d known Sabrina was going to mess with him, it was probably not a good idea to tag along. 

“I wonder, though…,” Sabrina thought aloud. She closed her eyes, and a few moments later, an Espeon opaqued into existence. “Ohh, it works!” She jumped in excitement. “Not the most elegant of transitions, but we can work on the finesse later, no?” 

“ _We_?” His question was answered in the form of an evil stare and a grin with too many plans behind it. “All of a sudden, I’ve stopped feeling safe. Behold an esoteric mystery. Perhaps it would be best discussing this over tea? You have a desk, right? Well, if you don’t, I know this great vegan rest—” 

“Espeon, off with his pants.” 

All humans involved had turned out bloodmouths despite hints to the contrary, but Dave was less interested in his incorrect assumption than the manifestation of a literal bloodmouth, should some genitals be ripped off along with the lower body garments. 

“Wait, no!” he exclaimed, but there was no stopping the mayhem. Espeon used telekinesis instead of fangs to rid him of excess clothing, though it was unclear whether that increased the probability of gore. It didn’t _feel_ gory, at least, which should count for something, maybe. His boxers removed, he looked down, feeling an unprecedented attachment to his repro— 

“Why?” he screamed, rocking the chair back and forth. “Stop fucking with me! I’ve had enough pregnancies for several lifetimes!” 

There was no way of phrasing this without sounding ridiculous, but the feminist conspiracy had succeeded: he now lacked a penis. A thousand voices screamed in sudden glee and quickly subsided, because the fandom of the _International Castration Day_ numbered only that many and they were loose and disorganised across highly introverted online blogs. 

“Ha! This worked out better than expected!” Sabrina said. Genitalia woes aside, she was enjoying the situation a lot, but not with the flavour of sadism expected from intellectually bankrupt ideologues comparing all pornographic production and vaginal penetration to rape. And this interpretation would be immediately put into question, as she kicked him in the chest, dropped him and his chair on the floor, then kept pressing down on his diaphragm with her left foot. Honestly, this would feel far more convincing as a BDSM fantasy if she wore latex and stupidly high heels instead of pink slippers. Putting more than just a symbolic pressure on his chest would also help. His back pressing down on his hands, tied behind him on the chair, was more troublesome than everything else. 

“I was planning to threaten you with emasculation, but I figured motivating you with de-emasculation would work out better,” she said. “Cause I think positive emotion trumps negative emotion every time. We all yearn for reconciliation, for catharsis.” 

“Motivate me for what? If no one’s gone down on you for a while, I could’ve offered my ser— Okay! Alright!” Dave shut up as he felt her foot moving down, preferring not to have his balls crushed like free speech in a room full with concerned mums of the conservative persuasion. 

“I guess the most relevant question here is… how is this possible? I’ve experimented in the past, but whatever it is you’re doing is some prodigy material.” 

“What can I say? I’ve always been special.” 

“Keep this up and the rest of your life will be a whole new type of _special_.” 

“I don’t know, okay? It just… happens, you know?” 

“Much like a double lobotomy.” Sabrina squinted her eyes to ensure the threat was correctly understood with its full neurologically crippling weight. 

“For fuck’s sake! Remember the Rocket operation, like, a week back? We went to recover a Darkrai, alright? And I let it go instead of turning it in to the global police.” 

“So a Darkrai went and, what? _Rewarded you_?” 

“Y-yes?” 

“A more sceptical person would tell you to fuck off, but with current events being what they are, I suppose there isn’t much value in scepticism.” 

With that concession, Dave recovered a small but vital part of himself. He was now the proud owner of the world’s smallest wiener, less than the size of his pinkie finger. Definitely the stuff of micropenis genetic deformities, but an infinite improvement to nothing, if calculus is to be trusted. Though it would have helped if it weren’t erect. 

“Ha…,” Dave chuckled, as if that would make his awkwardness invisible. 

“Well, that’s new. Are you a huge pervert, perchance?” 

“No!” 

“Then, since only prepubescent boys are pure, surely you wouldn’t mind staying one?” 

“I may have experimented a bit. But it’s nothing regular.” 

“Define _experiment_.” 

“Ugh.” The pressure on his chest was a constant reminder of how close to brain death he was, despite the equally prominent fear of social death. In retrospect, it was retarded how humans were social to such an extent that the potential of shame was even comparable to death. “Okay, I fucked a Ninetales in her arse while being forced to cosplay 11-year-old me, and then I womb-fucked a Leafeon because my alter ego complained doing Ninetales multiple times in a row was mentally unsound.” 

“Holy shit, too much information.” 

The gross detail he had described his symptoms of schizophrenia with earned him another impromptu penis enlargement surgery, so he was now sporting something less embarrassing, though still erect and still far less than what he had started off with. The ease with which his own mind was bent was a definite warning not to mess with professional-grade psychics in the future. 

“What are you doing here?” the interrogation continued. 

“Erika found out about me. She suggested I come to Saffron to acquire a Dream Eater Technical Machine to teach to Umbreon, so that she could—” 

“Sync your and other people’s dreams in a group hallucination worthy of Hollywood adaptations,” Sabrina completed his sentence. “That wasn’t hard to figure out,” she explained. To be fair, what else would a professional hallucination producer need from a Dream Eater Technical Machine? 

Dave had returned to his original size. “Oh, holy cows, thank you.” He sighed in relief. “Man, that was a trip. Holy shit. Never messing with feminists again.” 

“ _Excuse me_.” Sabrina pressed down harder, redirecting his attention. “What’s the big idea? What’s your end-game?” 

Dave opened his mouth to answer by reflex, but he had caught on to the ploy by then. “Excuse you. I’m done being motivated. If you would be so kind as to untie me, maybe we can discuss my career plans in a more hospitable environment.” 

Sabrina smirked and leaned in towards him. “You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.” 

The answer sprung to his lips at the speed of light. “My whole life’s been a bore, save for the past week. And now I get to let people feast on their ugliest, unhealthiest dreams in exchange for money. I’m thinking of opening a junk food chain.” 

“Big enough.” 

Dave’s shackles and the chair he was tied onto disappeared as fast as his façade of selflessness. Free from the ever powerful and pervasive influence of the matriarchy, he could now regain control of his life and move on to greener pastures, idly golfing with a clientele less threatening to his body integrity, or at least less than to the lawn. However entertaining playing the most pretentious sport sounded, there was something more deserving of attention than the privilege of the shamelessly affluent: a twelve inch cock. 

“This looks excessive,” he said, stupefied by the technically foot-long appendage, protruding out of his groin like an arm. That comparison was more literal than his typical one; a quick eye check hinted the distance of his fingers from his elbow wasn’t much different from his almost grotesquely inflated manhood, to the point of uselessness, one might add. 

“Oh my,” Sabrina said. She covered her mouth, trying to contain a shower of giggles. “I’ve read about twelve-inchers in bad homoerotic fiction before, and it does indeed look as comically unrealistic as I imagined it to be before setting the book on fire.” 

Not only comically, Dave figured, recalling the little anatomical knowledge he’d acquired yet regularly ignored during his REM journeys. Displaying the rock-solid erection he did in real life would either be impossible or put enough strain on his heart to warrant arrhythmia medication for the rest of his life, if not a premature visit to the morgue. 

Lightly slapping his member on the side, he could see it waving left and right like a flagpole planted on a wasteland of expired gummy bears instead of stable ground. A sight worthy of bad fiction if there were any, and one that summoned more laughter from Sabrina. It would have looked more ridiculous had he retained his original girth, but his sorry genetic freak circus act was stripped of that opportunity by the few bounds of reason still remaining in Sabrina’s head. He tried putting his hand around it, and judging by the relative difficulty of the feat, the value of pi hinted at a circumference of seven, maybe seven and half inches. Mathematics class had finally paid back. 

Sabrina began approaching him—something he didn’t associate with good intentions—and in response he crawled away, matching her walking speed. The futility of the motion became obvious as his back touched a wall. Or rather, a massive window pane acting as a wall. The existence of things outside the apartment shed light on, well, the lighting. The sun was still setting, but nothing was getting darker, the laws of gravity and celestial motion apparently no less broken than anatomy’s. 

“Um. What are you doing?” One might mistake his apprehension as unmanly, given the advances of the woman before him, but a more nuanced interpretation revealed very valid fears indeed. After all, who wouldn’t be apprehensive to arbitrary body modification they didn’t have control over? He worried which parts of him she’d magnify next. His feet? His ears? His self-esteem issues? They were treading on dangerous grounds. 

“I’ve been thinking…,” she said, Espeon catching up with her, rubbing itself—herself?—whatever, on her leg. He gulped as audibly as he could, his worst nightmares rapidly becoming reality, like explosion-ridden sequels to big screen adaptations of toy lines. 

“Y-yes?” 

“I wonder how many rules I could break.” 

“Well, uh… It depends, I guess.” Dave considered that maybe this wasn’t the most opportune moment to give legitimate consideration to Sabrina’s thought experiments. As per usual, he threw caution to the wind. “What kind of rules?” 

“Oh, well, you know. Legal, physical…” She looked down on her Espeon, purring like the exhaust engine of an unmaintained motorbike. She stared blankly, then widened her eyes, then grinned as if achieving anti-Nirvana, in a series of facial expressions spelling out bad times for Dave. “Ethical.” 

A chair appeared behind her, and Sabrina sat down. For a moment, he thought he’d be left off the hook without additional agony. That moment counted its duration in the milliseconds, as Espeon took over Sabrina in approaching him, the plan behind her grin coming to fruition. 

“Um, Sabrina?” The Espeon was now close enough to him that he could feel some of her fur tickling his feet. 

“Don’t worry, Dave. I’m going to run some more ‘experiments’ for you. I’m sure you understand. You know, as a senior researcher.” 

Now, on the one hand, his previous experiments has turned out to be more enjoyable than Dave would publicly admit, so the mere announcement of more wasn’t a worrisome happenstance. On the other hand, the person announcing them was the same one who literally made his dick go away a short while back. Who knew what sort of bullshit she had prepared for him? Someone as fucked up as her, she might have perceived his body language as begging for pegging. 

The clash of two strong and contradictory emotions produced nothing but stillness in his body. In an immense display of decisiveness, Dave stood by, not moving an inch, and watched the events unfolding before him without trying to prevent them or encourage them. He could hear Espeon breathing. He looked at her, and got weirded out by her inverted eyeballs; dark purple sclera, white irises. He didn’t know if the red gem on her forehead was looking at him, or how deep this weird manifestation of the third eye could see into him. He hoped it only went as far as his intestines; any further would by icky. 

Espeon lowered her head down to his crotch, where his pole was subtly shaking to the pulse of the blood circulating in it. Her long ears and whiskers tickled him enough to break his motionlessness streak and spread his thighs, giving Espeon easier access to his genitals. Whether she’d use this opportunity to pleasure him or castrate him was unresolved. 

She poked her tongue out, and laid a testing lick on the tip of his penis. He shivered to the touch. He’d been lacking the bottom half of his clothes for a long while, and with the stress of his interrogation proceedings, he hadn’t noticed how cold he’d felt. The lick was surprising in its contrast with the rest of the fuckery he’d endured that day. Warm and soft. Actually, _too soft_. He’d expected her papillae to shred his skin, draw blood, and feel awful in general. Benefits of surrealism, he figured. 

“Oh, I think he might fancy it!” Sabrina commented from behind Espeon, smugly overseeing the scene. “You weren’t lying about being a pervert. Honesty pleases me.” 

He had so many comebacks planned; so many comebacks he wanted to say. But Espeon’s advances made it hard to focus on outsnarking Sabrina. No longer feigning shyness, Espeon became more proactive in pleasuring him with her tongue. Poking it out as far as it was comfortable, she brushed it all over his glans, enveloping it in spit, and then under his foreskin for additional stimulation. 

“For the record, rubbing peanut butter on it won’t work for human females,” Sabrina joked. He was going to ask her if that was the reason she had no luck with people going down on her, but every time he opened his mouth, only grunts and gasps came out. 

The synchronisation between Espeon and Sabrina was rather unlikely, he came to realise. There was no way a Pokémon would know exactly when he was about to respond, and which responses Sabrina wanted to hear. And then it dawned on him: of _course_ it was impossible; everything in this dream was utterly impossible. The presence of Espeon herself was no less an impossibility. She was as much under the control of Sabrina as the room, the temperature, or the lighting. 

Having played with his cockhead to her satisfaction, Espeon paid some attention to the rest of his shaft. Again, if this were real life, there would be some sensitivity impairments owning to the size of his organ, once again proving the superiority of ignorance to realism. Espeon licked the sides and underside of his penis as if consuming an oversized lollipop, spreading her warm spit evenly on it, a sensation both wet and velvety. The stupidest thing he could liken it to was fucking a cloud. 

Espeon widened her motions and kept reaching further down his shaft, eventually all the way down to the base. He wondered if the constant movement made her neck hurt, but of course, fictional muscles suffered from fictional strain, so not much of value was at risk. Droplets of her saliva trailed down his dick, down to his scrotum. Her ears and the tufts of fur on her cheeks were now rubbing on the insides of his thighs regularly for bonus effect. It reminded him of the fluffiness of Ninetales’ tails. 

Espeon’s licking came to an end as she diverted her attention to his balls, which had only got wet by proxy. He expected the licking to resume there, but, as had become customary by then, she surprised him by taking a mouthful of his testicles in her mouth. The slight contact with her teeth reminded him how close he was to insurmountable agony should he offend Sabrina. Nevertheless, the embrace of the hot, wet cavity around his most private parts was a new one. 

The sensation was so unique and so surprising, he couldn’t resist looking down on her to see her work, despite his unconvincing attempts at looking indifferent. She looked back up at him, his massive organ over her forehead and red gem, right between her eyes. The size difference was obscene. His dick arched over her head almost completely. The sight lighted a fire inside him, his penis pulsing, and his testicles tightening in arousal and wanting. 

“How do you like her mouth, Dave? Does it feel good, having your balls sucked by a furry little creature? What do you think your higher-ups would say if they found you with your balls inside an Espeon?” 

“P-probably a few decades in prison,” he managed to reply, despite the stimulation of Espeon’s tongue working on his balls. He could feel her hot breath coming out of her nostrils on the underside of his cock. He could feel her soft, light purple fur as he rubbed the rest of his organ on her head. 

“Why don’t you touch her as well? It’s rude being selfish.” 

She had a point; there were no pretexts left to be upheld. He put his hands under her neck, on her head, and on her back in alternating positions, petting the Espeon, almost thanking her for the service she was giving him. He let his fingers dig into her smooth fur, short but well-maintained; letting the feeling engrave itself on his palms and between his fingers. He could feel her purring, pleased by his massage, the vibrations reaching to his balls through her mouth. 

She stopped sucking on him, removing his semen pipelines from her mouth. Excess spit dropped on the floor, strands flailing under his testicles and her open mouth. “Espeon,” she said between deep breaths and gasps. She moved back up a bit, so that his cockhead was lined up with her head. She looked down on it, planning her next move. 

“Well done, pet,” said Sabrina, clapping her hands. “Honesty is a great virtue, and so I reward it. Have a mouthful.” 

As if on cue, Espeon opened her mouth wide and leaned in on his cock. This time, there was no licking, as she inserted the entire head in her mouth, giving him an actual blowjob. Dave put his hands around her head and back again, this time petting her more furiously. But she didn’t stop there; she leaned in even further, shoving more and more of his cock in her little mouth—stretched to its limits in order to accept his girth—until he hit the back of her throat with a loud groan. 

“Are Espeon mouths to your satisfaction?” Sabrina wondered aloud. 

Dave felt no need to respond. As Espeon began pulling back, removing his organ from her mouth, he reached further down her back, toward her behind. And then Espeon moved back in, slowly, allowing him to feel the full length of her smooth tongue, the wetness of her mouth, overflowing with spit, and the wall of her throat he was hitting against. 

Not wanting to be the only one being pleasured, Dave reached to Espeon’s tail. As soon as he touched the bone at its base, it shot straight up, presenting herself to Sabrina, sitting behind her, idly observing their acts of bestiality. Dave grabbed Espeon’s arse cheeks, spreading them apart, then used one of his fingers to trail the unmistakable wrinkles of her anus. With Espeon yelling her muffled name with his cock still in her mouth, he inserted a finger in her arsehole. 

Sabrina positively lost it. Dave taking the initiative to act more depraved was the highest form of entertainment for her. “Really?!” she said, between loud laughs. “An anal fetish too? You have a tight pussy available to you, and yet you got for her butt? Is there no depths you won’t sink to?” 

“Try me.” 

Espeon increased her efforts, and began pumping his dick in her mouth hole. The increased speed stripped him of some of the finer sensations of her orifice, in exchange for more intense, albeit rougher stimulation. She pulled back, so that only his glans were inside her, spit falling out of her mouth as its lock became less airtight, then shoved as much as she could back in, sending the sensations of her tongue down his shaft, and hitting the end of her throat every time. 

Dave escalated his own efforts as well. Both his hands focusing on her rear, he alternated between spreading her shit pipe and penetrating it. He’d fit both his hands’ index fingers in it, soaking in the temperature, texture, and wetness of her colon. Espeon seemed to enjoy the sensation of having her intestines spread out by something other than a turd. He kept spreading her out, and she kept making muffled yells, until he could fit four fingers in her butt. The pleasure overloaded her, stopping her pumping motions on his dick, as she visibly shivered, dropping vaginal fluids between her rear legs, even though her pussy had been left alone, lusting for attention. 

But with all that being done, all the effort both of them put into their intercourse, three inches of Dave’s cock—about a forth of it—were getting all of the action. It was a consequence of both his inflated size and an Espeon’s natural smallness. Less than three feet tall, she could barely reach a grown man’s waist standing up. And yet there was a feeling of dissatisfaction in Sabrina’s mind, as if some part of her genius was being wasted, despite the top-notch entertainment playing out before her. 

“We need to go deeper,” she announced in an ominous voice. And that was Dave’s chance to show her the true extent of the depths he was capable of sinking into, metaphorically and literally in equal parts. 

Diverting his attention from Espeon’s pooper, he pressed down a thumb on her forehead, making her remove his penis from her mouth. And then he stood up, and sat on his knees rather than his butt. He put the same thumb on her mouth, signalling her to open it, then shoved his dick back in, this time taking charge of the motions. 

Both hands behind her ears, in full grasp of her head, he started shoving himself in her entrance. His pumping grew rougher by the minute, but with every thrust, he took some time to line up his waist, her head, and the rest of her body in as straight a line as he could. And every time he felt like he’d made some progress, he thrust harder. Muffled sounds left Espeon when he thrust, as air exited her lungs forcibly, taking some of her drool with it, as it spilled down on the floor. 

He’d managed to fit a little more of his dick inside her with a more strategic placement of flesh tubes and pipes, but he didn’t plan on stopping to such a superficial interpretation of Sabrina’s words. After all, this wasn’t reality, and if Sabrina could think up a sexual organ whose size broke all common sense on biology and hydraulics, then by Darkrai, he could figure out an hole capable of taking it. 

With more and more force, and more optimisation of their positioning, Dave finally felt something inside Espeon giving way, a sphincter giving up and letting things in. Giving her some time to breathe, he thrust forward one more time, and this time he penetrated more deeply than ever before: half his penis was inside her mouth now, although the mouth itself enveloped a negligible part of him. With six inches inside of Espeon, and a visible bulge on her neck, he knew he was inside her esophagus now. 

“Holy shit!” Sabrina said, not believing what she was seeing. “You’re no joke. You’re for real!” 

Her commentary inspired no reaction, as he was more interested in the grip Espeon’s food pipe had on his dick, a rhapsody for the use of the hole in a way it wasn’t meant to. He stayed motionless for a while, enjoying the tightness of a tube that she clearly didn’t expect to be fucked through. Espeon was trying to yell something, and eventually Dave pulled out fully, allowing her some air. 

“Oooon…,” she said, incapable of voicing some of the finer consonants of her name, her mouth so used to being wide open, she felt uncomfortable closing it. She coughed, spit leaving her mouth in larger amounts than before. 

Dave didn’t waste much time. He didn’t want her sphincter to tighten back down again. Knowing what to do better now, he grabbed her head and shoved himself in. Six inches of his meat disappeared inside Espeon’s upper digestive tract. He could make out his dick where he had penetrated her, her neck gaining an additional half of its volume from being stretched out by his member. 

He pulled out almost all of his dick from inside her in a somewhat uncomfortably wide move, allowing her a breath, then thrust inside her with one motion. The amount of material getting lost inside her was unbelievable, and unbelievably arousing. He put his hands around her neck, so he could feel it inflating and bulging every time he penetrated its entire length. 

With each thrust, more of his organ was shoved inside Espeon. Now, nine solid inches of dick were forced inside Espeon when he moved his hips forward. He dragged saliva down to her esophagus so that it could serve as lubrication for her incredibly tight gullet, which was almost protesting for being abused in such a manner. 

But if it wasn’t meant to be used as thus, why did her mouth pussy feel so good? He bet her throat felt better than her actual pussy, as if she’d trained it all along to take his massive member inside her, rather than eating. Dave lost himself in the feeling of tightness surrounding his dick, the insurmountable pleasure he extracted from this furry little creature’s mouth hole. He had a small mental chuckle, thinking of Rachel’s surprised face if she could see him with his dick buried so deep down an Espeon’s cavern. 

He didn’t waste any more time in tertiary thoughts. The world around him disappeared. Sabrina disappeared. Espeon disappeared. Even himself disappeared. All that existed in his world now were his monster cock and the non-human food pipe he was using as a vagina. He didn’t care much for Espeon’s needs any more, as he focused solely on shoving himself as much as he could inside her with a single thrust. 

The sensation of yet another blockage in her orifice brought him back to reality, but only for a brief moment, enough to remind him of the familiarity of the sensation to when he’d first started fucking her mouth. And then it was business as usual. More wide strokes pulling in and out of Espeon; nine inches, ten inches of meat. Almost a foot of his pole was getting shoved inside her with each motion. Almost as if he’d shoved his entire arm down her throat until her teeth were biting down on his elbow, and he was punching another weak, fleshy wall; another sphincter. 

And when it gave way too; when Dave thrust so deep inside Espeon that his entire organ had entered her, had almost become one with her; when her nostrils were up against his groin and her lips were touching his testicles; when not just her throat, but her thorax and some of her abdomen had bulged and acquired the shape of a vaguely cylindrical insertion; when Espeon started making muffled screams again; only then did Dave realise what he’d done, that he’d fucked her digestive pipes so thoroughly and so deeply that he had penetrated into the deepest organ the upper half of her body had to offer, an excellent womb to wrap up her mouth pussy. Dave was inside Espeon’s stomach. 

Sabrina was saying something that he couldn’t really make out. She sounded excited, but he doubted it was any more exciting than what he was experiencing now. Thrice did openings wrap around Dave’s dick with a full penetration: Espeon’s lips, and her two esophageal sphincters, normally preventing foodstuffs from spilling out, but currently abused and gaping in order to let his dick inside. 

Dave pulled back as far as he could, removing himself almost completely from Espeon. So much spit was let out as he exited that it was almost as if she was puking her own drool. “Oooo,” she said, her tongue too numb to even make the _N_ sound of her name. 

He looked down on her, seeing his massive member line up, about to penetrate her. He wanted to see this. In reciprocation, she looked back up at him, both her white eyes and her red gem facing him. He placed his hands on her throat and chest, wanting to feel himself pushing her insides around, rearranging her. 

And so he did. He moved forward, slowly, feeding her all of his phallus, making it disappear inside her, inch by inch, in its entirety. Her lips welcomed him, then her esophagus, then finally her stomach, all with their unique charms. A foot of penis, lost, somewhere in her flesh. He’d felt the tip of his penis with his hands pave a path and bulge her throat, then her chest, all the way down. He didn’t so much fuck an Espeon’s stomach as a fleshlight with light purple fur resembling an Espeon. 

He repeated the same motion, but more rapidly this time. His thrusts grew rougher every time, and her pipe grew looser. Little to none of the original resistance remained; her entire upper digestive tract was more like a single continuous orifice than a series of organs delimited by sphincters. He kept looking down on her, feeling her bulge, though she didn’t always return the gesture; sometimes her eyes rolled back, as if blanking out, shivering in orgasm. The orgasms were messing with her rhythm, not knowing when to breathe and when not to, making her gag, feeling like puking. Of course, he didn’t pay much heed to her. If she were truly in trouble, she wouldn’t be having successive orgasms. 

It wasn’t long before he could feel his own orgasm approaching. What with his pole appearing and disappearing inside her, the friction, the tightness, the depravity of it all, he couldn’t take much more. He buried himself in her stomach one last time, and let go of her throat and chest. He leaned forward, grabbed her _Y_ -shaped tail with his left hand, and shoved as much of his right hand—all five of his fingers—inside her arsehole. 

She had one final orgasm to match his. She squirted material everywhere, at the same time as he let out all his jizz inside her stomach; her digestive womb. Unfortunately, her mouth pussy was a pussy in name only. There were no eggs to even attempt to fertilise. All of his semen would meet their end in her stomach, unable to find anything to penetrate, but perhaps infusing their nutrients so deeply in her cells that he might as well have fertilised every single tissue in her body. 

Or, he would have liked that, had Sabrina not inflated one last part of his reproductive system. Yes, he was larger in length and girth, but he hadn’t accounted for his semen production whatsoever. He began ejaculating, buried inside her, but his orgasm knew no end. Ten shots, twenty. He didn’t know how much liquid he’d unleashed inside her. Before long, her stomach couldn’t contain the material, and with her sphincters abused to such an extent, his semen overflowed towards the nearest exit. Like a faucet, it ran up her gullet, into her mouth, and out of her mouth and nostrils. 

When he was almost done ejaculating, Dave removed his hand from Espeon’s arsehole, and then his penis from her larynx. Espeon faced down, whatever semen was left in her pummelled stomach spilling out, meeting no resistance in any of the usual places. She was puking his offspring out. He ought to be offended. The last of his ejaculation was spread all over her head and fur, painting the Espeon whiter than usual. 

Dave sat back down, rested against the wall, exhausted from the effort. Sabrina had sat up, and now clapping with full force. “Bravo! Bravo! A performance that will live down the ages and remembered forever.” 

He had to admit, she’d make him giggle. Only… Only he could still make out a grin on her face, even blurry as his vision was. And his erection wasn’t going away. 

“Oh, no, Dave,” she said. “It’s not over yet. I’m afraid there’s a few more surprises left,” Sabrina said. 

He didn’t know what to think. He felt the sense of worry come back to him, somewhat, but he was too exhausted to think about it. Espeon turned about in the little pool of his semen the both of them were sitting on, and presented to him the arsehole he’d worked on so far. Opening and closing, as if a second mouth, breathing air from the bottom end much like the top end. 

“Es… peon…,” she said, her voice hoarse from the rough handling. She lined up her gaping arsehole with his massive dick. She pressed closer and closer, until her pucker was touching his penis. Dave wondered whether he could penetrate her just as deeply from this end of her digestive system, and whether he’d be able to reach her stomach through her intestines, absolutely ridiculous though that sounded. 

He reached forward for her butt, and forced it down on his shaft. He sensed penetrating her… 

* * *

And then he saw the light, and felt the disappointment of an abrupt awakening. One last insult from Sabrina.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rape = Sex + Trainer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742660) by [theway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theway/pseuds/theway)




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